


songs from the vortex

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drama, F/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: Collection of one-shot fics based on songs, all previously published and written from 2013 - 2015. Pairings: Ten/Rose, Ten&Martha. Primarily rated T, but E rating is for certain chapters.
Relationships: Martha Jones & Tenth Doctor, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler





	1. Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note #1:** All of the chapters in this fic were originally published as one-shots between 2013 and 2015. I am simply posting them in one story for better convenience (and to make it easier on me for future uploads).
> 
>  **Author's Note #2:** The fic featured in this chapter was my first-ever _Doctor Who_ fanfic, inspired by a fanvid on YouTube featuring Ten/Rose and Nine/Rose set to "Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young" from the 1984 film _Streets of Fire_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I've got a dream 'bout a boy on a star looking down upon the realm of the world. He's there all alone and dreaming of someone like me. I'm not an angel, but at least I'm a girl."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
> 
>  **Song:** "Tonight Is What It Means to Be Young" from _Streets of FIre: A Rock & Roll Fable_

_I’ve got a dream ’bout an angel on the beach  
And the perfect waves are starting to come.  
His hair is flying out in ribbons of gold,  
And his touch has got the power to stun._

Nineteen-year-old Rose Tyler glanced to her left along the stretch of beach as she heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS materializing—only, instead of the TARDIS, she could see the lean form of the Doctor as he faded in and out view. Then he materialized fully, an unspoken apology in his deep brown eyes and regret mingled with something else on his handsome face. His mouth opened like he was going to say something—but he faded away before more than a few words had fallen, just as Rose was moving towards him.

 _No!_ He couldn’t leave her here, not again. Rose had just started to rant at the empty space where the Doctor had been when the scene shifted.

_I’ve got a dream ’bout an angel in the forest  
Enchanted by the edge of a lake.  
His body’s glowing in the jewels of light  
And the earth below him’s starting to shake._

She was standing with the Doctor in a forest at the edge of a lake reflecting the fiery orange of the setting sun. The TARDIS was maybe 400 meters away, its blue color never changing, but Rose didn’t recall stepping out of its doors and into this breathtaking landscape.

“Doctor,” she asked, “where are we?”

Streaks of copper were pulled by the sun through his spiky brown hair when he turned his head to look at her, that excited grin on his face. “Not sure, exactly. Looks like Earth, probably North America, possibly the Rocky Mountains.” He stuck out his tongue to taste the air. “Yep. I was right. Well, never been to Colorado before. Let’s explore, shall we?” The Doctor started to walk off, but Rose grabbed his arm before he had taken more than a couple of steps. A puzzled expression crossed his face as he looked down at the hand gripping his tricep. “What?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to see the sunset, would it?” said Rose, looking back to the lake. The sky was now a mixture of blue, orange, and gold, with streaks of pink thrown in for good measure, and the clouds were varying shades of purple and red. All this was reflected in the calm, glassy surface of the lake.

Rose tore her gaze away from the sight before her to look at the 900-year-old Time Lord beside her. A chill trickled down her spine when she saw that the reflecting light was casting his body in a warm golden glow, the color so similar to that of the one which signaled the start of the regeneration process. But he couldn’t regenerate, not yet—it was too soon; besides, she was fairly certain that this was just a dream.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” said the Doctor, snapping Rose out of her observations. “Sometimes I forget that your planet has its own natural beauty, especially in those places least touched by you humans.” His fingers linked with hers, his touch replacing the chill from earlier and filling Rose with warmth. “Why do you have this need to destroy life for your own selfish needs and ambitions, when you should be protecting it?”

Rose had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. “There are endangered species under protection that are making a comeback, Doctor,” she pointed out, “and the United States has several national parks.”

“It’s not enough. There are only a handful of truly wild places left.” The Doctor’s brown eyes grew dark, moody. “And there wouldn’t be any endangered species if it weren’t for you humans destroying their habitats to build your cities and roads, or for you hunting them for sport.” Anger flashed in his eyes; then it faded. “It’s useless lecturing a human about this. I don’t know why I’m even— We were talking about the view, right?”

“Yeah. Then you went off on this tangent, and I saw no possible way of stopping you. And quite insulting us; not all humans want to destroy nature, you know.” Rose gave his hand a quick squeeze, letting him know she accepted the unspoken apology.

“Right,” the Doctor said briskly after a few seconds, shaking himself as if to be rid of an irritating fly. “Now that it’s nearly dark, what do you say we head back to the TARDIS?” He flashed a smile at her that would melt what remained of winter’s snowfall off the neighboring peaks and turned on his heel in the direction of the 1960s blue police public call box that was indeed bigger on the inside.

They had only taken a few steps when the ground shuddered violently and ripped open right under their feet. Rose shrieked in surprise and gripped the Doctor tightly, swinging her body around so she was pressed against him. She was vaguely aware that he was grasping her tightly at the small of her back and around her waist; then all that was left was the sensation of falling, falling . . .

_But I don’t see any angels in the city.  
I don’t hear any holy choirs sing.  
And if I can’t get an angel  
I can still get a boy,  
And a boy’ll be the next best thing,  
The next best thing to an angel.  
A boy’ll be the next best thing._

Rose’s eyes snapped open. Her head spun and her stomach lurched as she remembered falling and never landing. Then her head cleared and her stomach settled as she recognized her surroundings: She was on a red double-decker coach in London. Her head rested against the window, her eyes almost automatically searching for the familiar blue form of the TARDIS, or maybe the lanky brown-haired frame of the Doctor. Where there was one the other wasn’t far behind.

But she didn’t see any sign of either the Time Lord or his ship. Disappointment crashed over her like a tidal wave as she realized a large part of her had expected him to be there. The lyrics to an old song played in her mind: _Your love is like a tidal wave spinning over my head, drowning me in your promises better left unsaid. You’re the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasy. The invincible winner, and you know that you were born to please._ Then the coach rolled to a halt a block outside her flat, and Rose hopped off and headed in the front door.

“Mum, I’m home!” she called out, shutting the door behind her.

Jackie Tyler appeared in the living room almost instantly, a shot of some sort of drink in her hand. Mickey Smith, Rose’s ex-boyfriend, popped his head out of the kitchen. His face lit up when he saw her. “Hey, Rose! Finally decided to stay for a while, have you?”

Rose shifted her weight, feeling uncomfortable. The truth was, she felt more at home with the Doctor—wherever he was—than here on Earth with her family. She wasn’t even sure she would be here all that long.

And yet . . . whenever she did return, Mickey would be there, doing his best to help out her and the Doctor. Part of the reason she’d gone out with him in the first place was because of his personality and outlook on life, but as soon as she’d met the Doctor . . . She’d left Mickey and Jackie to run off in the TARDIS with the last of the Time Lords. And while Mickey wasn’t the Doctor, he was the next best thing—not that she would ever tell Mickey that.

Her silence seemed to answer Mickey’s question; his face fell. “You’re not staying then. You’re going to go off with _him_ again, aren’t you.” It was not a question.

“Yeah.” Rose found it difficult to meet his eyes. “Probably.”

“And while you’re off God-knows-where doing God-knows-what,” Jackie cut in, slamming the now-empty glass down on a nearby stand, “do you even think about how it affects us? You were gone for a whole _year_ , Rose!”

Before Rose could even begin to think of a reply, the _vroomp-vroomp_ of the TARDIS materializing filled the flat. In about thirty seconds, the door was open and the Doctor’s head was poking out. A grin split his face when he saw Rose. “C’mon, then, what’re you waitin’ for?”

She didn’t look back at her mum or her ex as she bounded into the TARDIS. The Doctor waved a hand at Jackie and Mickey. “Love to stay,” he said insincerely, “but we really must go.”

“Now, wait a sec—” Jackie began, starting forward, but the time machine was already gone.

_I’ve got a dream ’bout a boy in a castle  
And he’s dancing like a cat on the stairs.  
He’s got the fire of a prince in his eyes  
And the thunder of a drum in his ears._

According to the Doctor, they were adrift in the Time Vortex. Rose didn’t really care; she was more interested in observing him as he moved around the console room. Memories played in her mind: her dancing with the Doctor on the catwalk after they’d saved WWII-era London from the Empty Child; the golden light streaming from him as he regenerated; brief mentions of the Master, another Time Lord who was driven insane by the four-beat pounding of drums in his head.

The Doctor suddenly stopped whatever he was doing and looked up at Rose. “It’s late. You’re not tired, are you?”

She hadn’t noticed that she was until he mentioned it. Fatigue washed over her; all she could manage was a nod.

“Well, go on, then. I’ll wake you in a few hours.” His warm, dark brown eyes followed her progress down the hallway that led to the bedroom he so rarely used, looking away only when Rose was out of sight. He wasn’t worried that she would get lost: Rose knew her way around well enough by now, and he suspected his TARDIS was fond of her, as was he.

_I’ve got a dream ’bout a boy on a star  
Looking down upon the realm of the world.  
He’s there all alone and dreamin’ of someone like me.  
I’m not an angel but at least I’m a girl._

He’d lied when he’d told her they were in the Time Vortex. They were hanging in orbit miles above Earth, closer to the moon than anywhere else. Even the nearest star was light-years away. His morals, such as they were, were even more messed up than normal if he didn’t feel remorse—or anything but happy, really—over lying to his pretty blonde companion.

 _Rule Number One: The Doctor lies,_ he thought. He always did, and usually he ended up causing death wherever he went—most of it by his own hand. The Daleks didn’t call him the Oncoming Storm for nothing, after all, and he was really quite fond of humans and their home planet. It would not do to threaten it on his watch—he should know; several alien species had tried. Having a companion helped keep him in control, and more than that, Rose had staved off his loneliness, made him feel cared about. And yes, that sounded sappy, but this body was a tad more emotional—or easier at showing emotions, at least—than his ninth incarnation.

The Doctor sighed and ran a hand through his spiky brown hair. Suddenly he was finding it harder to concentrate than normal, and his attention span was incredibly short on a good day. It was a good thing he wasn’t human then; if he were, this body would have been diagnosed with ADD or ADHD—and he shuddered at the thought of taking Adderall, or any kind of medicine, really.

His thoughts were running away with him again. He had been going to—what was it? Ah, yes, check in on Rose, make sure she was really sleeping.

His twin hearts sped up in his chest for reasons he did not want to think about too closely as he walked down the corridors to his room, shrugging out of his brown suit jacket as he went and draping it over his arm. He reached the door to his room and opened it enough to see that Rose was in his bed, out cold. Not wanting to disturb her, he tossed the jacket in the general direction of the closet and shut the door softly. As reading had always helped calm him—and he couldn’t sleep anyway—he decided to head to the library, maybe brush up on Charles Dickens or Shakespeare. Fine by him, so long as Rose hadn’t left any Stephanie Myer novels in there. The Doctor grimaced and shivered at the thought. How that rubbish series had sold so many copies was beyond him. He’d met _real_ vampires and werewolves, after all, and vamps did NOT _sparkle_. As for the ’wolves, many of the ones he’d met had a taste for human flesh, not vampire.

His fingers were now running along the spines of leather-bound books, his eyes quickly scanning the titles. He finally pulled out Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” Memories of meeting the long-dead author in Victorian Cardiff and fighting the Gelf filled his mind; a smile tugged at his mouth. Rose had been with him then, too: It had been her first trip into the past after he’d showed her the end of the world, five billion years in her future.

Rose Tyler was a special one, he reflected. _Bad Wolf_. She’d looked into the heart of the TARDIS—and therefore the Time Vortex itself—and used that power to save him from the Dalek Emperor, even though her mind hadn’t been able to handle it. Yes, she might not be his species, was only a human girl, but she was _his_ human girl—and that was all that really mattered.

The Doctor suddenly realized that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything he read, not when everything reminded him of Rose. Rose, who was currently sleeping in his bed.

 _Don’t even go there,_ he told himself sternly. He couldn’t take advantage of her like that, as much as he wanted to. But now that the image was in his head . . .

He cursed under his breath in Gallifreyan, knowing he was done for as he slid the book back in place and headed out of the library to his room.

_I’ve got a dream when the darkness is over  
We’ll be lying in the rays of the sun.  
But it’s only a dream and tonight is for real  
You’ll never know what it means  
But you’ll know how it feels  
It’s gonna be over (over)  
Before you know it’s begun  
(Before you know it’s begun)_

_Oh, it’s all we really got tonight  
Stop your crying, hold on (tonight)  
Before you know it it’s gone (tonight)  
Tonight is what it means to be young  
Tonight is what it means to be young_

The Doctor slipped inside his room, his eyes easily adjusting to the darkness. He made for the closet, fingers already working at his shirt, and reached for nightclothes. Shrugging out of the shirt and trousers, he pulled on the jim-jams—all in the dark. He didn’t want to risk waking Rose by turning on the light, and besides, he had really good night vision, far better than that of a human.

Without really thinking about it, he stretched out on the free side of the bed, lying on top of the covers. As Rose was underneath the duvet, he was trying to be a … well, not a gentleman, exactly, but he _was_ trying to lessen the temptation. If he was honest with himself, though, if he was serious about avoiding temptation, he would be sleeping on the couch in the library, not lying here with Rose, his young, pretty, blonde, female, _human_ companion.

He laced his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Rassilon help him, he couldn’t fight his feelings for her. And given Rose was sleeping he was _not_ going to take advantage of her like that. Maybe when she was awake he’d take her to Barcelona—the planet, not the city—make love to her . . .

But that was only a dream and tonight—tonight was for real.

Rose shifted positions, moving closer to him, and the Doctor stiffened. He’d overstayed his welcome; he really should leave . . . Yet, something about this seemed so natural that he didn’t want to leave.

 _I really should go now before I do something I’ll regret,_ he thought, _or stupid._ He rolled to his left—and the next thing he knew, he was lying face down on the floor.

 _So much for not doing anything stupid._ Fortunately, it didn’t look as if he’d disturbed Rose any: Her breathing was still the steady, deep rhythm of one in the third cycle. (The first stage was dozing, where you were easily awakened; the second was REM, rapid-eye movement, which occurred when the subject was sleeping. If he remembered correctly, there were four sleep cycles.) All this went through his mind in less time than it took to blink as he picked himself up from the floor. This time the Doctor slid under the duvet, only just realizing how cold it was (he suspected the TARDIS had something to do with that).

Rose turned over onto her left side, her head dangerously close to the Doctor’s shoulder. Her right hand stretched out, resting lightly on his chest, and he dared not breathe. His hearts sped up into an allegro tempo, and his traitorous body wanted to move even closer.

 _No! No, nonono, no! She’s_ human . . .

His sleeping companion solved his dilemma by snuggling closer, burying her face in the crook of his neck, the arm banded across his chest tightening. The Doctor’s breath hitched in his throat, escaping as a rattling hiss. Any further and he wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences.

 _Face it, you’re gone._ The Doctor shifted slightly, and the movement woke Rose. He felt her lips curve in a frown—they were that close—and he couldn’t hide the faint tremor that raced through him. Her head lifted, and he saw that some of the fog was fading from her eyes as she puzzled out what position she was in and who was in the bed with her.

Then she slapped him—hard.

“Ow!” the Doctor yelped, rubbing his cheek. “Did you take lessons from your mum last time we stopped in 2005?”

She glared. “Maybe.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t try anything funny, did you?”

“No.” He had the decency to look wounded, at least. Then he smirked. “You’re the one who was up on me, remember.”

“You’re a total prat.”

“I’ve been called worse. By the way, how’s Mickey the idiot?”

“. . . What?”

The Doctor smiled. “I knew that would take your mind off this.” He was still trying to figure out what _this_ was.

Rose propped herself up on one elbow, running a hand through her long blonde hair. “What would _this_ be, exactly? And how long was I asleep for?”

“I don’t know, and about ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

“Ah. Well, in that case, sod off and let me sleep.” With that, Rose rested her head back on the pillow, her hand in its former position on the Doctor’s chest. Her head wasn’t far behind; the close contact made him feel as if he were drowning in fire.

Then her lips grazed his throat, one of her legs rested on top of his, and before he knew it, he was completely gone.


	2. Wuthering Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Out on the wiley, windy moors we'd roll and fall in green. You had a temper like my jealousy, too hot, too greedy. How could you leave me when I needed to possess you? I hated you, loved you, too."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Doomsday_ fix-it, as per usual for this ship. Could take place during series 4 with dimension-hopping Rose, if you want to view it that way.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Song:** "Wuthering Heights" by Kate Bush (though I used Pat Benatar's cover while writing)
> 
>  **Originally published:** 18 August 2013

_Out on the wiley, windy moors  
We'd roll and fall in green.  
You had a temper like my jealousy.  
Too hot, too greedy.  
How could you leave me  
When I needed to possess you?  
I hated you, loved you too._

_Bad dreams in the night.  
They told me I was going to lose the fight.  
Leave behind my Wuthering, Wuthering,  
Wuthering Heights._

Rose Tyler tossed and turned in her bed, unable to fall asleep. Moonlight spilled through the window and bathed her in its cool silver glow.

How long had it been since she was trapped in the parallel universe? Months? Years? And all because of _him._

 _His_ face flashed in her mind, and she slammed her eyes shut. Fat lot of good it did, because now the memories wouldn't stop.

Rose remembered lying in apple grass on his trench coat, the Doctor stretched out beside her. In her mind she had rolled over, straddling him, and then sent the two of them rolling through the green grass, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. The scene melted and shifted, then condensed to the two of them inside the hospital. Rose was trapped in a corner of her mind, unable to do anything as Cassandra launched _her_ body at the Doctor, snogging him, raking her hands through his hair, rolling her hips. Rose could see it, feel it, but it was as if from far away or in a dream. The Bad Wolf hadn't felt like this, and afterward Rose vowed that New Earth was the last time she would be possessed.

While traveling with the Doctor she'd seen so many sides of his personality. During his fight with the Sycorax leader, she'd seen a darker, more volatile side of him. _"No second chances. I'm that sort of a man."_ He was quick to anger in this body, his temper and strong sense of justice raging like fire when he felt he had been violated. When he'd left her and Mickey on that spaceship to go chasing after some French mistress, jealousy had flared so strongly in Rose she thought it would consume her. Both of them were too hot, too greedy when it came to each other and their emotions.

More memories came unbidden, ending with Torchwood One. _How_ could he have done that to her when she'd told him over and over again that she was never going to leave him? She'd made it back, of course . . . but she'd ended up being trapped in Pete's World anyway.

In that moment, she both hated and loved him.

He'd burned up a sun just to say goodbye . . .

Lately she'd been having nightmares whenever she'd fallen asleep, all of them involving the Doctor. She could see him, and she'd call out his name, but he never heard or saw her. And each time he looked so lonely, so broken and desperate, that it broke her own heart to see him like this.

The Beast's warning played in her mind again, and Rose dug her nails into the bedsheets. But in a way, she had lost the fight to stay with the Doctor—and she had died in battle, or so everyone back in her home universe thought.

"It's not fair!" she cried suddenly, bringing her knees up to her chest. She'd had to leave the Doctor behind— _her_ Doctor—and his wonderful TARDIS, which was more a home to her than any Powell Estate—no matter what universe it was in.

Somehow, she was going to find a way back to him. She didn't care what the cost was at this point.

-oOo-

The Doctor, alone in the TARDIS, was busy tinkering with the wiring and other pieces of machinery. He'd put on music to help him think—"Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. His ship had a surprisingly large music collection, and with his luck the next album would be Pink Floyd's _Dark Side of the Moon_ or Def Leppard's _Pyromania._

" _Doctor!_ "

His head jerked up, hit the metal edge of the panel, and he bit back a curse. He knew that voice, that oh-so-familiar voice . . . but this shouldn't be possible.

He scrabbled around the console until he was looking at the monitor. There was Rose, on-screen, in her room on the parallel universe. She was sitting up, covers resting on her knees, and he could see the white tank top she wore as a nightshirt. His hearts clenched at the look on her face: pain, desperation, fury—at him, he was sure—yet love was there, too.

"Rose?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe it. He blinked, reached out a hand to touch the monitor . . . but the image of Rose was gone.

 _No! No, no, no, no,_ no! He raked his hands through his already-messy hair, brown eyes wide. This couldn't be real, had to be a dream . . . or maybe he was going insane.

-oOo-

Back in Pete's World, Rose was trapped in memories of both her Doctors and all the adventures they'd shared. She had no idea how she'd survived as long as she had without the Doctor there. Yes, she had her family, but it wasn't the same. It was so _lonely_ without him here.

Yes, there was also her work with the parallel Torchwood, but really, she was just using them to find a way back across the Void.

Even if it killed her.

_Too long I roam in the night.  
I'm coming back to his side to put it right.  
I'm coming home to Wuthering, Wuthering  
Wuthering Heights._

Months later, the Dimension Cannon was finally ready. After a series of unsuccessful jumps, she finally found herself in her home universe. . . . and the Doctor was a few hundred meters away.

Without even thinking, she called out his name and began running. The Doctor turned, and his eyes lit up. A smile spread across his face, and then he, too, was sprinting toward her, long trench coat billowing out from behind him.

They met in the middle; and he swept her up in a hug, spun her around, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "Rose," he whispered, warm breath caressing her smooth, pink skin. Reluctantly, he set her back down on the ground, but she only tightened her hold on him.

"Told you I'd stay with you forever," she murmured, looking up at him and biting her lip. A hint of pink tongue peeked out through her white teeth.

"Rose, how?"

"Dimension Cannon. Parallel Torchwood. Doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm back, Doctor. I've come home."

Suddenly the aftereffects of using the Cannon caught up with her and Rose began shivering. The Doctor loosened her grip on his waist, leaned back, and looked down at her with concern in his fudge-colored eyes. "Rose? What is it?"

"Cold. So cold."

"Come on." Instantly his expression was all business—determination, concern, and worry all at once. "Let's get you inside the TARDIS. I can look you over there." Before Rose could protest or say she would be fine in a few minutes, the Doctor had picked her up and was carrying her to his timeship. She should have been mad about that, but in reality, she was sort of enjoying it.

Stupid hormones. Stupid irresistible alien. _Why_ did this incarnation have to be so attractive?

It took her several long moments to realize that he was taking her to her room, not sick bay.

"Doctor, what—?"

"You're cold, so we need to warm you up," he said in a reasonable tone of voice. Several possibilities of how that could happen flashed through Rose's mind, each more erotic than the next, and she said, "I think you can put me down now."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Just aftereffects. I'll be fine in a bit."

He tilted his head, as if he was considering it. "Nah. 'Sides, we're already here." The door to her room opened and the Doctor set Rose down. As she walked over to the bed, she noticed that nothing had been changed since she'd been trapped in Pete's World. She flopped down on the duvet-covered mattress and faced the Doctor, who was eyeing her intently with that piercing brown gaze.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking away as if unable to hold her gaze. "For a while," he said finally, "after you were . . ." His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. "Anyway, I thought I was going mad. I kept seeing you on telly, hearing your voice no matter where I was. It even happened here in the TARDIS. How were you doing it?"

Rose shrugged. "I dunno. Bad Wolf, maybe? I never knew anything about this until you told me." But there were her dreams . . .

The Doctor tilted his head, focused his hearing on her heartbeat. It was steady, so she was telling the truth. As for her suggestion, it made some sort of sense. "Yes, maybe it _is_ the Bad Wolf," he muttered.

He realized seconds later that Rose had leaned forward and was loosening his tie. "Rose, what—?"

"Still cold, Doctor. You want to warm me up?" There was a glint of something in her whiskey-colored eyes that the Doctor couldn't place. She leaned in, mouth close to his ear, and whispered seductively, "Then make love to me."

Her hands had already loosened his tie and were busy unbuttoning his suit jacket and shoving it off his shoulders when his brain caught up and started panicking.

"Rose," he protested, knowing it was weak and wouldn't do any good, not now. "We can't . . ."

His feeble protests trailed off as her hands removed his jacket and shirt, her teeth tugging gently on his earlobe. She must have picked up a few tricks.

"I've missed you," Rose murmured, running her hands across his pectorals, over his shoulders, and around his neck. "So much." Her lips found his, gentle yet demanding. He jerked back, realized his hands were on her waist, and he found he didn't know what to do. "Please, Doctor. Let me have you."

He never had been able to refuse her, even back when he was northern and blue eyes and leather jackets. His hands had a mind of their own by now, since they were feverishly undressing the top half of her body. Skin brushed skin as Rose pulled him down with her onto the bed, and somehow in the moments that followed there were no further barriers.

The Doctor drank in every detail, every single sensation, and tried committing them to memory. He was still half afraid that this was another hallucination; but Rassilon, if it was, he didn't want it to ever end. Even as he gave himself to her, licked and nipped and stroked her burning flesh, he couldn't quite believe this was real.

Rose's nails raking down his back, her pleased moans, her naked body writhing underneath his soon convinced him that, _yes_ , this was reality.

Her name fell from his lips over and over, like a mantra, as he mapped out her body with teeth and tongue and clever hands. Rose spread her legs, arched against him in a silent demand.

He should stop now, he really should, but he eased inside her anyway, a rasping mewl in the back of his throat. _Oh_ , she was so tight and hot and wet and felt _so good_ . . . Then he began to move—Rose moved with him—and time dissolved. It wasn't long before they were no longer dancing. They were flying, and he flew with her over the edge.

Afterwards, when Rose was asleep, the Doctor indulged himself by curling around her and trailing his fingers through her long blonde hair. Through the whole time he'd had Martha as his companion, the thought of Rose and somehow returning to her had been the one thing that had kept him going. Now she was here with him, when it shouldn't be possible. If forced to admit it, he would have said he'd been prepared to sell his soul to have her back. He would do anything for her.

The Doctor just hoped he wouldn't wake up and find it was all a dream. Surely the universe wouldn't be that cruel to him.

Then again . . .

He leaned in close, just behind her ear, and whispered the sentence he'd never finished on Bad Wolf Bay:

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

Although he couldn't see it, her lips curved in a small smile.

Oh, yes, she was definitely home now.

Forever.


	3. Sleep Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Lonely woman gets so cold with no loverboy to hold. One more night she's on her own. Nobody meant to sleep alone. ..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Doomsday_. Angst.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler  
>  **Song:** "Sleep Alone" by Heart  
>  **Rating:** M
> 
>  **Originally published:** 18 August 2013

_Say so long, baby.  
Turn around.  
Loneliness hits you.  
Emptiness closes you down._

“Rose Tyler—”

Before the Doctor could finish his sentence, the hologram of him cut out and faded away. Rose, tears streaking down her cheeks, buried her face in her hands. Sobs racked her body. She was dimly aware of Jackie and Mickey coming up behind her to offer reassurance and lead her back to the car, but she didn’t care. That was the last time she was ever going to see the Doctor. If he’d only had ten more seconds . . .

Rose couldn’t help playing back the scene in her head.

_“I love you,” she says, voice breaking as she tries not to cry._

_He smiles sadly. “Quite right, too. And I suppose this is my last chance to say it. Rose Tyler—”_

God, what was she going to do without him? Suddenly, despite the fact her family was right there with her, Rose felt so lonely and empty.

At least now she knew what the Doctor had probably felt like after the Time War.

“Come on, luv,” Jackie said softly, resting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

 _But it_ isn’t _home,_ Rose wanted to shout. _Not to me._ To her, home was with the Doctor and his TARDIS. She didn’t say anything, though, and let her mother lead her back to where the parallel Pete Tyler was waiting by the car.

_Alone in his car  
You think of his name.  
Took part of you with him.  
It won’t be the same._

The whole drive back from Bad Wolf Bay to the parallel Powell Estate, Rose was lost in memories of the Doctor.

She’d first met him back in the shop where she’d worked in downtown London. Rose had been cornered by living plastic mannequins that were trying to kill her when a hand had grabbed hers. Brilliant blue eyes bored into her own brown ones and a rough voice had said, “Run.” Of course, he’d ended up blowing up the store—which was perfectly fine with Rose, since she’d hated working there anyway.

After she’d helped him defeat the Nestene Consciousness, she had decided to accompany him in the TARDIS. Since then she'd seen the end of the world, fought Gelth in Victorian Cardiff with Charles Dickens, stopped World War Three against the Slitheen with Harriet Jones (Prime Minister), faced gas mask zombies from the Blitz, seen more Daleks than she wanted to, destroyed the Dalek Emperor, and seen the Doctor regenerate. After that she’d seen Sycorax, a werewolf, met Sarah Jane Smith, been to the Olympics, battled Cybermen, and more. So much more—and along the way she’d fallen in love with him in both his forms. It had been a better life with the Doctor—she’d explained as much to her mum.

Who was going to hold his hand now? He was all alone, and she was stuck here with no way back. The gap between the universes had closed completely.

Before Rose knew it, they were pulling into the driveway of the Powell Estate. The drive had taken hours; but to her, lost in memories, it seemed to be no time at all.

Then again, time was just a big ball of wibbley-wobbley timey-wimey stuff. She'd learned that quickly after travelling with the Doctor.

Somehow, she made it to her room and crashed on the bed. Right now all she wanted to do was sleep, but she couldn’t stop the tide of memories from coming in.

_1You love to relieve  
The love that he gives.  
You love to recall  
The rush of it all._

_He woos you so sweet,  
Then kicks on the heat.  
You’re willing, you’re hot.  
Give him all that you got._

On their runs toward danger or back to the TARDIS, the Doctor would take her hand in his. Since his regeneration, there had definitely been more flirting than usual, and Rose had actually found herself enjoying it. For example, on Christmas, when he’d faced the Sycorax leader and gone into that speech about who he was, he’d asked _“Am I sexy?”_ and winked at Rose. Then there was the time they'd attempted to land in 1950s America to see Elvis and he’d ridden out of the TARDIS on a motorped. _“Ya going my way, doll?”_ It was so easy to fall for him again, and when he kicked on the charm and heated looks . . . it was nearly impossible for her to resist.

After their trip to Krop Tor, she’d had nightmares for days. Rose closed her eyes and let one particular memory drift to the surface.

_“Rose!” There is a pounding on her bedroom door. “Rose, let me in!” The voice is frantic, scared, and even in the throes of her nightmare she knows it belongs to the Doctor._

_She doesn’t move. She can’t._

_Seconds later she hears the buzz of the sonic screwdriver and the door bursts open. She opens her eyes to see a disheveled and very concerned Doctor standing in the doorway, who is instantly crossing the room to her bed._

_“Rose, what is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”_

_She shrinks back, avoiding his intense gaze. “Nightmare,” she whispers. “The Beast . . . and you were . . .” Her voice trails off, and she swallows hard past the lump of fear in her throat._

_A reassuring smile plays at his mouth. “I’m here now, Rose,” the Doctor says, right hand reaching out for hers. Instead of grabbing it, she wraps her arms around him and buries her face in the cool skin of his neck._

_“Hold me, Doctor, please.”_

_She tightens her hold on him as his hands come around her to press against her back. Rose feels the cool gently pressure through the flimsy material of her tank top, and she wants them even closer than that._

_“Take me, Doctor,” her voice begs before she realizes she’s spoken. “Take me away, just for a little while.” Her hands slide from his neck to his shirt front, already undoing the buttons there._

_His body tenses, and she sees the inner battle raging in his eyes. Then his hands are tugging her top over her head and her eager, willing body is beneath his as his weight presses her to the bed._

_Already she is so hot even though there’s one tiny spot inside her that’s freezing cold. Wanting to fill that hole, and chase away the demons for a while, Rose gives him everything._

Rose dragged herself out of the memory, eyes snapping open. How could she have forgotten about that night? Even though it was only for comfort, or so she’d told herself, he’d done everything right, coaxing secrets out of her body so many times, easily.

When morning had come, he was already gone.

Even as her body remembered his kisses, his touches, Rose’s mind shrank back from the memories. Yes, she’d slept in her own room on the TARDIS and the Doctor spent the night either in the library or tinkering with his timeship, but it wasn’t the same as the situation she was now in. On the TARDIS, she knew the Doctor was nearby. Now, with the rift between the universes sealed off . . .

Rose had a feeling she would have a hard time falling asleep tonight. A line from a song by Heart played in her head, summing up exactly how she felt: _One more night she’s on her own. Nobody meant to sleep alone. . . ._

_You’re waiting too hard, counting the days  
Till he comes home and lifts you out of his haze.  
You dream all day, climb the walls all night.  
No satisfaction till he makes it right._

The next few days, in an effort to distract herself, Rose throw herself into her work at the parallel Torchwood. Part of the reason for that was Jackie: Her mother had insisted that keeping busy would have her mind occupied and help her cope with the loss.

Nights were a different story. At night, when she couldn’t sleep, she tossed and turned in bed, trapped in memories and dreams of the Doctor. Other times she would wander the halls of the parallel Pete Tyler's mansion. Even after weeks and months of living here she was still discovering new passageways. Her favorite one led to the huge library with a fireplace. No wonder it was her favorite: It reminded her of the Doctor’s library in the TARDIS.

None of it helped. Deep in her subconscious, Rose knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until she found a way back to the Doctor.

Currently, Rose was browsing the library’s shelves while everyone else in the manor was asleep. Her trailing index finger rested on a book entitled _A Journal of Impossible Things_. Intrigued, she pulled it out.

The glossy brown cover showed a silver watch—maybe a fob watch—inscribed with circular script she recognized instantly—Gallifreyan. Without bothering to read the blurb on the inside jacket flap, Rose turned to the first page and began to read, settling herself in a posh leather armchair by the fire.

To her surprise, there were drawings: pictures of the TARDIS, a Dalek, Slitheen, a page with ten different faces—those must have been the Doctor’s previous incarnations; she instantly recognized his former and current faces—and . . .one of her. According to the book, when the Doctor had been human, he’d dreamed about _her_.

Well. Okay, then.

But then again, she was doing the same about him, every single night.

_It’s so hard to kick  
The memory addicting you.  
So hard to lick  
The romance afflicting you._

_You love to relive  
The love that he gives.  
You love to recall  
The rush of it all._

No matter how hard she tried, Rose couldn’t forget about the Doctor. And she was addicted to the memories of him; the thought of finding him again was all that was keeping her going.

Setting the book aside, she gazed into the fire, recalling another night in a very similar library.

Days after the incident in her room, after yet another adrenaline-filled rush back to the TARDIS, they had decided to curl up with a couple good books in the library. With her body hopped up on adrenaline and pheromones, everything the Doctor did was distracting her from her book.

Then she’d decided to take matters into her own hands, and well, the Doctor certainly hadn't protested. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d ruined her for any other men, she was sure. The rush, the way her body responded to him, was intoxicating, addicting.

Rose groaned quietly. Now she was never going to sleep.

This was going to be a _very_ long night.

_Lonely woman gets so cold  
With no loverboy to hold.  
One more night she's on her own.  
Nobody meant to sleep alone._


	4. At Night She Sleeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At night, with Rose lying beside him, Tentoo can't help reflecting on her relationship with his Time Lord counterpart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Journey's End_. Angst.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Song:** "At Night She Sleeps" by Night Ranger
> 
>  **Originally published** 6 October 2013

_Living alone in her own little room  
In her own little world, oh yeah.  
Walking alone down her own little streets  
While the city’s asleep, oh yeah.  
Nobody knows her.  
She’s a lonely girl in a lonely world._

Rose Tyler, exhausted from a hard day’s work at Torchwood yet unable to sleep, decided she’d had enough of just lying around in bed trying to rest her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed, careful not to wake any of her family to the meta-crisis Doctor—the Doctor who was currently in a room just off her own. For the sake of simplicity they called him John Smith: It was easier than referring to him as the Doctor or the Doctor’s duplicate all the time. He had been the one to suggest the name in the first place, since Rose’s Doctors had used it as an alias several times.

Anyway, since she couldn’t sleep, she might as well clear her head with a night walk and some fresh air. Rose stripped; quickly pulled on jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie; slipped on sneakers; and was out of the manor in under two minutes.

It wasn’t long before she was walking the London streets. Even though her and John had been here together for a little less than a month, she sometimes caught herself searching the sky for a familiar blue box.

The rest of the city might have been sleeping; but John, back at the manor, knew Rose was gone: He’d heard her leave. He needed more sleep now than he did when he was a full Time Lord but less than a human; and besides, his senses were more in tune with Rose than with any other human being.

Who was she really thinking of when she looked at him? John wondered. _Can’t she see . . .?_

_At night she sleeps; all alone she weeps  
With her head on her pillow, yeah.  
With tears in her eyes,  
She remembers his smile  
As she studies the photograph._

It was at least a half hour before Rose returned—he may be half-human, but he still had his time sense and could still see time curling around every single being on this planet. That was some comfort, that he still had his Time Lord abilities even when he was half-human and in a new universe.

The sound of Rose crying reached his ears, and his single heart clenched in sympathy. Without really thinking he moved toward his door, opened the door to her room slightly—just enough to peek in.

Rose’s head was resting on her pillow, and John could see that her hand was curled around a photograph of her and his Time Lord counterpart. If he narrowed his eyes he could just make out that it had been taken after his counterpart had saved 1953 London from the Wire and restored Rose. The two of them were smiling—no, grinning would be the proper word—but he couldn’t remember who had taken the photo. Not that it really mattered in this case; besides, it was 1953 and Technicolor hadn’t been invented yet. Photos and television were still in black-and-white. All that aside, Rose— _his Rose_ —was crying. John wanted to go to her, comfort her, but he knew she still saw him as an imposter: her Doctor yet _not_ her Doctor.

_They were together.  
She held his hand and it broke my heart.  
They were forever,  
But she turned her back and he was gone._

That day when they’d returned to Bad Wolf Bay, Rose and the Doctor had kept finding each other’s hand the entire time they were on the TARDIS—and even when they were facing Davros on the Dalek _Crucible_. John wasn’t blind—and he had all of the Doctor’s memories, after all.

Rose had promised him her forever, but the Doctor had left her on a Norwegian beach with his double. John knew how much that had hurt her—but he knew why the Doctor had done it. He’d tried warning her, after all, but she hadn’t listened. _“I don’t age. I regenerate. You humans grow old and wither and die. Imagine watching that happen to someone you lo— You can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can’t spend mine with you. I have to live on, alone. That’s the curse of the Time Lords.”_

When the Doctor had left her for the last time, John had been there to hold her hand. At least he’d been able to say what the Doctor hadn’t, had finally been able to kiss Rose when she was just _Rose_ and not under any alien influence.

Before he realized what he was doing, he had further opened the door to her room and was sitting next to her on the bed. “Rose?” he asked softly, one hand reaching out to stroke her hair.

“Doctor?” The name left her lips automatically as she leaned into his touch, curved her body into his.

“Yeah, Rose, it’s me.” John hated having to deceive her like this, but as long as she didn’t feel his single heartbeat . . . Maybe . . .

“Dance with me.” Her brown eyes, red from crying, were half-closed as she studied him.

Unsure of what else to do, he kissed her softly, hand slowly moving to undress her. It took him a few seconds to realize she was doing the same to him.

_At night she sleeps.  
Is she dreaming of him  
While she’s making love to me?  
At night she sleeps.  
She keeps calling his name.  
Imagine what it’s doing to me._

He couldn’t help wondering just exactly who Rose was thinking of even as she made love to him. Was she dreaming of him—John—or the Doctor?

John shoved the thought away as he explored her body, discovering how to best bring her pleasure. Rose moaned when he teased the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, tracing Gallifreyan symbols with his very talented tongue.

“Oh, yes. Doctor . . .”

John froze momentarily before resuming his activities, finding her moist heat. His heart broke inside, dying a little each time Rose called _his_ name.

The Doctor. Not him. It would never be him, he knew that now.

John thought sadly, _Can’t you see you’ve got the best of me? Oh, can’t you see? You’re bringin’ on the heartbreak, bringin’ on the heartache. You’re bringin’ on the heartbreak, bringin’ on the heartache. Can’t you see? Can’t you see . . . ? No, hang on—that’s Def Leppard. But the point still stands._

When Rose snapped out of whatever delusion this was, they would handle it. But for now he would help her in whichever way he could.

No matter how much it hurt him.

_At night she sleeps.  
Is she dreaming of him  
While she’s making love to me?  
At night she sleeps.  
She keeps calling his name.  
Imagine what it’s doing to me.  
At night she sleeps . . ._


	5. Comin' Under Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their encounter with Reinette, a jealous Rose decides to take matters into her own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Girl in the Fireplace_.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler  
>  **Rating:** E  
>  **Song:** "Comin' Under Fire" by Def Leppard
> 
>  **Originally published:** 13 October 2013

_Your kinda woman got a heart of stone,  
But watch it break when I get you alone. . . ._

“Doctor?”

The Doctor’s hearts skipped a couple beats but he slowly turned to face Rose. He hadn’t put that letter—Reinette’s letter—in his pocket a moment too soon.

“Yeah, Rose?” His mouth twitched in a feeble attempt at a smile.

His blonde companion met his gaze and held it as she asked, “Were you really going to let _her_ come on board the TARDIS with us?”

The Doctor didn’t need to ask who Rose was referring to: he already knew. He nodded stiffly, a bit unsure as to why Rose was behaving as if she were . . . No, she couldn’t be. Could she?

Shaking the thought off, he added, “She’s always wanted to see the stars. Remind you of anyone?” He raised a single eyebrow at her as he leaned back against the console, arms crossed over his hearts.

Rose’s cheeks flushed. “That was different.”

“Not really. All he could have done was go stand outside.”

Triumph flared in Rose’s eyes. “Exactly. All Reinette had to do was stand outside and look up at the night sky, but no, you had to crush on her after seeing her—how many times?”

“Two words, Rose: Adam Mitchell.”

“In case you’d forgotten”—When had she moved closer?—“that entire building was being filled with concrete. He was right there—”

“—and decided to save his own skin,” the Doctor interrupted. “Then we kicked him out of the TARDIS.”

That tongue-in-cheek smile was starting to form. “I wonder if anyone’s found out about his implant yet.” The smile faded. “But that’s not the point, Doctor! You _left us_ for five-and-a-half _hours_ on that ship while _you_ were off in 18th century France chasing after Reinette! We could have been there for five-and-a-half days or _dead_ for all you knew!”

Guilt slammed into his chest. He hadn’t thought about how much this would hurt his companion. “Rose, I’m—”

“You’re what, Doctor?” Rose tilted her head, her tone suddenly flirtatious, a coy smile curving her mouth. Her hands found his shirt, toyed with one of the buttons near his throat.

“Sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you and Micky.”

Her whiskey-colored eyes were searching his as she raised herself on her toes. “You’re gonna be,” she breathed in his ear.

_Wait, what?_

Before he could ask her what she was doing, she had whirled him away from the console and was walking him backwards toward the nearest door.

_Take a chance, come lay down with me.  
Oh, I wanna make it!_

He wanted to ask her where they were going, but something about the look in her eyes stopped him. It was possessive, territorial, saying _mine_. Oh, there was definitely something of the wolf about her.

Vaguely, through his peripheral vision, he saw the door to Rose’s bedroom and his mind froze. Oh, no, nonono. NO!

The Doctor tried to pull away, but Rose tightened her hold. “You’re not getting off that easy,” she told him. “Take a chance, Doctor, and dance with me. Show me you’ve still got the moves.” Her hands were suddenly busy with his suit jacket, then shirt.

For once, he found he couldn’t talk his way out of this one.

_You’ve got me, I’m cornered,  
My back to the wall.  
Your bed of roses ain’t no bed at all.  
I’m walking the wire, I stumble and fall.  
I got my message but I ain’t gonna crawl._

Rose led him inside her room, shut the door, and then had him up against the nearest wall as she snogged him. And—Rassilon help him—he kissed her back. Oh, she tasted so, _so good . . ._

Her nails raked his bare chest; and he jerked back in surprise, breaking the kiss. His respiratory bypass engaged when he took in her darkened eyes, caught the scent of her arousal . . . and the possessiveness of her body language.

This wasn’t going to be gentle, he realized. This was all about Rose claiming him. Her bed of roses—pun _so_ not intended—was no bed at all.

_Hang on, that’s Def Leppard. “Comin’ Under Fire”, isn’t it?_

In any case, he was receiving the message loud and clear, but he wasn’t going to crawl on his knees and beg. He was a Time Lord, not a human. Superior biology and all that—and his body was betraying him. He wanted her. God help him, he wanted her.

By now Rose’s hands were undoing his trousers, shoving them down, then removing both them and his Converse. The next thing the Doctor knew, his back was against soft mattress and Rose’s fully-clad body was hovering over his.

“You’re _mine_ , Time Lord,” she growled, ducking her head to lick and nip at his throat. _“All mine.”_

_Play the game, surrender to me . . ._

“I—” He broke off with a rattling intake of breath when her teeth grazed his carotid artery, her fingers found and twisted the flat nipples on his chest. “Rose . . .” Was that his voice sounding so rough and needy? And what had happened to him not begging?

The feeling of her clothing on his skin was torture; he wanted her skin sliding over his. He started to reach for Rose’s shirt and had just touched the end when she reared back, tantalizingly out of reach. There was a wicked look in her eyes, a predatory smile on her lips. “Nuh-uh. You’re going to have to earn it, Doctor. I’m not done with you yet.” (He took that to mean she still hadn’t forgiven him for Reinette, but he didn’t want her teasing him like this—not when his body was already hard and aching for her.)

_Slow and steady never lost the race.  
Don’t stop running; I’m a fool for the chase . . ._

Frustrated with her teasing, he rocked his hips upward, felt her denim-covered core was slightly warm. “Please . . .” he hissed through gritted teeth.

So much for not begging.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she trailed a hand down his ventral body cavity, her nails leaving light marks on his pale skin. The Doctor bit back a snarl as she teasingly avoided the spot he wanted her to touch the most.

Not that he minded foreplay. It was well known by the both of them that he was a fool for the chase, loved the thrill that came with sprinting from danger or from one adventure to the next.

Rose was wearing too much clothing for his liking, but at least hers could be removed far easier than Madame de Pompadour’s. He wondered where that thought had come from but quickly discarded it when Rose drew her shirt up over her head and let it fall to the floor.

 _Bloody tease,_ he thought, hands starting to reach out for her newly-revealed flesh. How many times had this regeneration dreamed about having Rose like this? Well, considering Rose was being the dominant one here . . . Didn’t she know what her behavior was doing to him?

Rose grasped his hands by the wrist before he could touch her and held them back over his head, against the headrest. The action had her body stretched out over his, and he _still_ wasn’t touching her. _Torture, that’s what this is,_ he thought. _Pure torture._ Even then part of his mind was telling him to stop now before it went any further, that this was wrong, wrongwrongwrong, _wrong_. . . .

His body disagreed.

_It’s so easy to put on a show.  
Your body says yes, but you won’t let it go. . . ._

_“No . . .”_

Rose’s eyes glinted as she leaned in, inhaled his scent. “Oh, really? Cos your body is saying otherwise, Doctor.” To prove her point she trailed kisses from his jawline to the pulse point in his neck, tangled one hand in his hair. The Doctor growled, arched upwards.

“Stop . . . teasing . . .” he ground out. He wanted to be inside her, but since the most intimate part of her was still barred from him . . . But wait, he could easily work one of his hands loose, start on her jeans . . . He did just that, keeping Rose distracted the whole while.

Her free hand left his hair, moved down his body once again, then dug into the tender skin just above his aching cock. Reflexively, his hips jerked up—and this time he was rewarded with the feel of her inner thighs against his throbbing skin. She still had her knickers on, but he knew he would change that soon enough. He’d had enough cruel and unusual punishment and wanted his reward.

“What do you want, Doctor?” Rose’s voice was a husky purr in his ear. Her teeth caught an tugged at his earlobe, and he suppressed a groan.

“Think you know,” he managed, his voice raspy and strained as he fought for control. He wouldn’t let himself go, not yet. Not until he was inside her.

“Tell me,” she ordered—and why couldn’t he find the words? Usually his gob never failed him.

Why was she still on top anyway? Oh, right, because one dominant look or possessive action from her and he submitted instantly. Her wish really was his command.

“Want . . . inside . . . you.” Was that really his voice? “Please, Rose . . .”

_Is it any wonder you’ve got me comin’ under fire?  
Comin’ like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire._

He could have sworn that was satisfaction and something like triumph flashing in her brown eyes. Then it was gone and she was rearing back on her haunches, unclasping her bra and removing her knickers.

Rose’s eyes darkened as she looked him over, his body already bearing signs of her possession: teeth and nail marks, brown eyes almost black with desire, dazed expression, and the evidence showing he wanted— _needed_ —her.

When both of his hands were free and there was nothing separating them, she slowly lowered herself down on him until he was completely sheathed in her tight heat. Without really thinking about it, the Doctor flipped her over so that now he was the one looking down at his lover. _Wait, lover? When did that happen? Not that it really matters._

His body was stretched taut as a wire, and he was already so close to the edge it wouldn’t take much to send him hurtling over. Fire raged through him, heating his cool skin and setting his blood boiling. Rose rocked her hips up and forward, dug her nails hard into the skin of his back as her teeth clamped down on his shoulder. The Doctor let her set the pace—and right now, he _wanted_ it hard and fast. He didn’t want slow and gentle, not when he was being burned alive from the inside out. There would be time for that later; and to be honest, he like this more domineering side of his Rose.

 _His Rose._ He decided he rather liked that.

Her inner muscles clenched tight around him, and that was all it took. So much for his superior biology and incredible endurance. He collapsed on top of her, hearts pounding and trying to regain their normal rhythm.

Rose ran a hand through his thick hair, massaging his scalp, and he had to fight the urge to lean into her touch. He did anyway, purring contentedly, for all the world like a large brown-furred cat. The Doctor wasn’t a cat person—being threatened by cat-nuns took all the fun out of it—but in this case he figured he could make an exception.

“Apology accepted, Doctor,” Rose said, and he had to think for a few seconds about what she meant. Oh, right, he’d apologized for leaving her and Mickey on the 51st century ship.

Speaking of Mickey the idiot, where was he now? Cos he definitely didn’t want Rose’s former boyfriend walking in on the two of them like this. Unless Rose had locked the door. Yeah, probably. That made sense.

Cheeky little minx.

“You planned that, didn’t you?” He lifted his head to look at her.

That damned tongue of hers peeking out told him all he needed to know. Well. She certainly hadn’t hesitated. Even when he’d snogged Reinette—well, more like she’d thrown herself at him—the French mistress had hesitated, her eyes calculating, before she’d moved in. With Rose . . .

“You’re mine,” Rose said simply. “ _My_ Doctor.”

He decided he wasn’t going to argue that one. After all, she was _his_ Rose.

The Doctor tried to convince himself that he hadn’t gone crazy for her—but he had, and the passion he tried so hard to bury and control refused to slip away.

_I don’t want to fake it. . . ._

How was it she could do this to him? He certainly hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t wanted to need her, but he did—and, to be honest, that sort of scared him. Reinette had been fascinating, yes, but when he’d trapped himself in her world and resigned himself to the slow path, his thoughts had been on somehow returning to Rose. He’d hurt her, almost had her killed by clockwork droids . . . but somehow, he hadn’t expected her to take it out on him like this. And yet, he wasn’t surprised, not really.

Then she kissed him, softly this time, and already the taste of her had him ready for more all over again.

_Is it any wonder you’ve got me comin’ under fire?  
Comin’ like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire.  
Is it any wonder you’ve got me comin’ under fire?  
Comin’ like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire.  
You got me comin’ under fire . . ._


	6. I Don't Want to Be Your Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Bad Wolf Bay, Rose finds a way back to her universe and her Doctor... only to find he has a new companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Series 3 AU feat. dimension-hopping Bad Wolf!Rose Tyler. Set during _The Shakespeare Code_.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, one-sided Martha Jones/Tenth Doctor  
>  **Rating:** T  
>  **Song:** "I Don't Want to Be Your Friend (I Just Want to Be Your Lover)" by Pat Benatar
> 
>  **Originally published:** 29 November 2013

_Did you see me last night?  
I was there in the dark.  
I saw her look at you  
The way I used to do  
When I still had your heart._

Rose, hidden back in the shadows, felt her heart clench as she saw the Doctor walking down the crowded London street with his new companion: a pretty, dark-skinned woman a few years older than Rose. Upper-middle class, too, judging from her clothing. Martha Jones, she’d heard him call her.

 _Doctor._ Rose took a step forward, the name on the tip of her tongue. It died when she took in the look on Martha’s face, one full of adoration and longing. A smile was on her face like she was inwardly laughing at something _he_ ’d told her.

 _He’s mine! Leave him alone!_ Rose leaned forward, one arm braced on the brick wall of the alley, and her foot hit an empty rubbish bin. The resulting noise had her darting back into the shadows just as the Doctor whipped his head round. His brown eyes were wild, haunted, as he searched the shadows.

Was he looking for her?

Part of her was pleasantly surprised at the thought, while another part was torn. How could she have known what her being trapped in the parallel universe had done to him?

His expression was hopeful, expectant, cautious, and full of longing all at once. How he could feel all that, show it, and not go mad she had no idea.

Maybe he had. Maybe the only reason he had Martha as a new companion was to keep him somewhat sane, to stop him before he went too far. Rose had had to do it herself, especially when she’d first encountered a Dalek in Henry Van Statten’s museum.

She still didn’t like the way Martha was eyeing the Doctor, though.

The Time Lord took a step in her direction, and Rose wondered just how well he could see in the dark. His lips moved, and she swore she heard him from fifteen meters away:

_“Rose . . .”_

Slowly, oh so slowly, she inched forward until she was partly out of the shadows.

Then Martha stopped walking, looked back, and called after the Doctor. He didn’t move; he was still staring at Rose, eyes wide. Martha gave him a hard look and called his name again. Reluctantly, he turned away and followed his new companion.

Rose wasn’t sure how long she would be here, but while she was in her home universe she might as well keep an eye on them.

She tried to tell herself it was because she wanted to protect the Doctor and not because she was jealous of Martha—Rose had run with him first, after all.

But she was a horrible liar and couldn’t even lie to herself.

Silent as a cat (but not a cat-nun), she detached herself from the alley and padded after the Time Lord and his human companion.

Just who was Martha Jones, anyway? It was clear to Rose that the other woman either had a huge crush on or was in love with the Doctor, but it didn’t seem as if he noticed. As they walked down the street the Doctor wouldn’t take Martha’s hand. Every so often he would look back over his shoulder, and each time Rose had to duck for cover.

This was so weird, even for her. Mickey had said something about it in a similar situation to the Doctor: _“The missus and the ex. Every man’s worst nightmare.”_

But she _wasn’t_ the Doctor’s ex. . . .

 _I don’t want to be your friend,_ Rose thought. _I just want to be your lover. I don’t think I can pretend that you mean nothing to me. It’s hard enough to say goodbye even when you know it’s over. I don’t want to be your friend—I want to be your lover. Hang on, is that Pat Benatar? Ah well, it fits._

The Doctor and Martha turned a corner, and she lost sight of them. Only then did she get a look at their surroundings: 15th, 16th century, maybe London, possibly Cardiff. Then she saw the Globe Theatre in the distance and smiled. Figured, since they’d already met Charles Dickens. That had been fun. Okay, so the Gelth had been terrifying and she could have gone without the mortician copping a feel, but otherwise it had been fun. The way the Doctor had looked at her when she stepped out of the wardrobe room in that dress . . .

How much longer did she have before she was pulled back across? Not much, she didn’t think.

Rose wanted more than anything to be reunited with the Doctor, but . . . somehow, she didn’t think Martha would appreciate her showing up out of the blue like this.

Where were those two, anyway?

And why did she care what Martha thought? Just from watching her body language it was clear the other woman felt like nothing more than a rebound.

The Doctor _had_ kept sneaking glances back at her once he knew she was there . . .

Why was it so hard for them to say . . . ? (But he had. He’d burned up a sun to do it.)

More to the point, why was she still standing out here in the street? She could at least find the TARDIS. Rose still had her key, which lit up when the TARDIS was nearby and powered up. Hopefully the timeship remembered her.

-oOo-

As they walked to the building they were staying in, the Doctor’s head was reeling. There was no way he’d seen Rose; he couldn’t have. She was trapped in Pete’s World; the walls of reality had sealed, closed off.

Were his feelings for her so strong he was conjuring up her ghost?

 _Appropriate word choice, “conjuring,” seeing as it looked like that man died because of witchcraft,_ he thought. _But that_ couldn’t _be Rose. She’s gone. Forever._

He was aware of a conversation with Shakespeare, but to be honest he wasn’t really paying much attention. When Martha made the decision to tuck in, he followed soon after with a, _“Nighty-night, Shakespeare.”_

 _If_ that was Rose (and he wasn’t saying it was), how had she gotten across the Void without her mind being torn to shreds? Anyone who crossed through without protection would go completely mad. (But Rose had seen the whole of time and space, had used that power to destroy the Daleks and restore Captain Jack . . . and it had nearly killed her.) Besides, the dimension jumpers the parallel Torchwood had developed tore holes in the fabric of reality. So if Rose _was_ actually appearing to him . . .

“So, magic and stuff. That’s a surprise. It’s all a bit Harry Potter, isn’t it?” Martha’s voice broke into his reverie. Startled, he sat up on the bed—When had he settled down there?—and said, “Wait till you read book seven. Oh, I cried.”

“But is it real, though? I mean, witches, black magic and all that’s _real_?”

“Course it isn’t,” the Doctor scoffed. Secretly, he was glad she’d gotten him talking; it would take his mind off Rose, if only for a moment.

“Well, how am I supposed to know? I’ve just started believing in time travel; gimme a break.” Her voice at the end was a little bit of a laugh.

“Looks like witchcraft but it isn’t. Can’t be.” He noticed Martha was still in front of him. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

Martha somehow managed to look startled, flustered, and affronted all at once. She set the candle on the table next to the bed. “Move over, then.”

He did. He was aware of her talking but wasn’t paying much attention.

_Am I gone from your thoughts?  
Forgotten somehow?  
When you lie there with her  
Does my memory stir any part of you now?  
I know that I should concede, face the truth and all that.  
I know I should realize I’m not part of your life anymore,  
But I can’t._

He rattled off some technobabble, then turned onto his side so he was facing her. “There’s something I’m missing, Martha,” he said quietly. “Something really close staring me right in the face, and I can’t see it. Rose would know. A friend of mine, Rose, right now she’d say exactly the right thing. Still. Can’t be helped. You’re a novice, never mind. Take you back home tomorrow.”

He missed the way Martha’s face turned stony, but he heard her disgruntled “Great” as she turned and blew out the candle with a huff.

He’d meant it, though. One trip, one trip only, and then back home. He couldn’t afford to get close to another companion, not after . . .

_Rose . . ._

If she could see him now, what would she think? Would she think he’d given up on her? But he hadn’t. He would find a way back to her. He had to.

She was all that kept him going. He’d wasted too many chances already to tell her that he lo—

Even now he couldn’t think it, let alone say it out loud.

He really was a coward.

-oOo-

Relief flooded Rose when she saw the familiar sturdy blue shape of the TARDIS. Her step quickened as she neared the old girl until she was running. Rose neatly dodged a puddle of waste and inserted her key into the lock. The door opened, and she stepped inside.

Her eyes swept around the console room. Nothing had changed, except . . . Was that Martha’s jacket draped over the yellow jump seat?

Jealousy reared its ugly head. “I was here first,” Rose muttered. She walked up the metal ramp to the console, let her fingers trail over the controls. There was a familiar gentle hum in the back of her mind, and a small smile graced her features as she realized it was the TARDIS.

“Hello, old girl,” she said. “Miss me?”

Warmth flared inside her head, which Rose took as a yes.

It had been so long since she’d been here . .. Where should she go first?

Suddenly she was filled with the desire to see if anything in her room had changed. Rose made her way down the familiar passageways.

She knew she should accept that she wasn’t part of the Doctor’s life anymore, but she just couldn’t.

It didn’t take long before she was standing in front of her bedroom door. Rose curved her hand around the doorknob, twisted, and pushed it open.

She wasn’t sure what she expected, but her bed looking as if it had recently been slept in while everything else was untouched certainly wasn’t it. Rose moved silently forward, picked up one of the pillows, and raised it to her nose. Almost instantly she identified the Doctor’s scent.

 _I don’t know if that’s sad or creepy,_ Rose thought. On one hand, the thought of the Doctor coming here to mourn and feel close to her was heartbreaking. On the other, this was where her scent was the strongest, and who knew what condition the sheets were in?

Traveling between dimensions was starting to take its toll, and it was late at night. Rose’s eyes, suddenly heavy with fatigue, closed. Her body landed on the soft sheets milliseconds later and refused to move.

-oOo-

The Doctor glared angrily up from Martha’s prone form at Lilith, the Carrionite who had just demonstrated the power-of-a-name spell on his new companion. His brown eyes blazed.

“Only sleeping, alas,” Lilith said, lowering her finger. “It’s curious. Her name has less impact. She’s somehow out of her time. As for you, Sir Doctor . . .” She raised her hand again, pointing a taloned finger at him. At a loss, she paused. “Fascinating. There is no name. Why would a man hide his title in such despair? Oh, but look, there’s still one word with the power of the days.”

“That’s not going to work on me,” the Doctor growled.

“But your heart grows cold./ The north wind blows,/And carries down the distant . . . Rose?” Lilith smiled, tilting her head.

The Doctor leaped to his feet, strode toward her. “Oooh, big mistake! Because that name keeps me fighting!”

_And when I think I’ve had enough  
And I just can’t stand the pain,  
I reminisce about the way  
It felt to have you every day.  
You know that every time I hear your voice  
I still get a thrill. . . .  
And there’s nothing I can do about it._

Rose had been asleep, dreaming about her travels with the Doctor, when she suddenly landed hard on a wooden floor. Her brow furrowed and she let out a moan at having her sleep disturbed. Almost defiantly, she slipped back into dreamland.

But there was a voice calling her . . .

“Rose? Rose, wake up. _Rose, please_ . . .”

She stirred, reluctantly opened her eyes. Rose knew that voice, knew who the speaker was even before her gaze settled on him, and she couldn’t stop the thrill that raced through her at the sound of his voice.

It had been so long . . .

Her eyes landed on the Doctor. “Hello,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Hello,” he replied. The warm look in his eyes froze and hardened as he glared back up at the Carrionite. “How did you bring her here?”

“I named her.” Lilith shrugged.

“But she was in a parallel universe!”

“No I wasn’t. I was sleeping in the TARDIS,” Rose said, lifting herself into a sitting position, her legs curled beneath her.

“How?”

“Dunno. Dimension Cannon prototype, I think. Either that or Bad Wolf. I’m not entirely sure.” A sudden noise made her look back. “Doctor, she’s getting away!”

The two of them leaped to their feet and lunged toward Lilith, who floated in the air outside the open window.

“Oh, that’s just cheating,” the Doctor and Rose said in unison.

Lilith flashed them a simpering smile, leaned forward, and ran a hand through the Doctor’s hair. A growl rose in Rose’s throat, one she didn’t bother holding back.

“You might want to control your little wolf there, Doctor,” Lilith told the Time Lord, her voice a caress. Her hold on his hair tightened, and when she removed her hand there was a swatch of brown hair clenched between her fingers. In her other hand was a small device; a doll, maybe?

“Now, you may call that magic; I call that a DNA replication module!”

“What good is your science now?” Lilith wrapped the hairs around the doll, then drove a needle through where its heart should be. The Doctor instantly collapsed on the floor. Lilith, cackling, flew away, easily dodging Rose as the blonde made a swing at her.

Seething, Rose dropped to the floor beside the Doctor. “Oh no you don’t,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m not losing you again, you stupid alien git.” She was so focused on the Doctor that she’d forgotten about the other woman, Martha, until the doctor-in-training was right beside her trying to perform CPR.

“He’s got two hearts,” Rose reminded her. “Who are you? New companion?”

Martha stopped and looked at her. “I’m Martha Jones. Now, who the hell are you?”

“Rose. Rose Tyler. And I’m really not supposed to be here, not yet.”

Martha’s eyes widened. “Ohmigod, you found him! He never shuts up about you, you know.” Judging from the bitter note in her voice, Rose figured her previous assumption was right: Martha felt like a rebound. It was also clear that Martha had a crush on the Doctor, but he didn’t return her feelings. That didn’t stop her from attempting to perform CPR, though. Then she stopped and sat back. “Hang on, mister,” Martha drawled.

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, and he rolled to his feet. Suddenly he bent over, hand clutching at his chest. “Agh, she stopped one of my hearts working. Hit my chest.” She did. “Other side.” This time she whacked the left side of his chest, and the Doctor dropped to his knees. “My back.” Martha’s fists came down hard. Rose couldn’t stop the small smile from forming as he popped the muscles in his neck, got to his feet, looked at Martha, and cried, “Ba-da-BOOM-ba!” Then the Doctor was heading for the door, Martha a few steps behind him. She kept going when the Time Lord stopped suddenly and looked back at Rose, who smiled and waved.

Going from the horrified look on his face, she was already fading.

“I’ll find you,” she promised him, her voice sounding not quite like her own. She had no way of knowing her brown eyes were flaring with specks of gold, that this was Bad Wolf speaking. “My Doctor.”

“Rose.” His voice was broken, eyes were desperate as he reached for her. “I lo—”

But she was already gone, and he never could say the words.

_I don’t want to be your friend.  
I want to be your . . ._


	7. Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Oh, I’m wantin’, waitin’, touchin’ you. We’ll be movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Oh babe, when you get that rhythm, gonna move into your room. Tonight—give me love with no disguise. Tonight—I see the fire in your eyes. Tonight—so right, this night, could it be dynamite? Wait and see. If it pleases you it pleases me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _The Idiot's Lantern_.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Song:** "Tonight" by Def Leppard
> 
>  **Originally published:** 2 December 2013

_I don't want to play no waiting game.  
_ _You drift away, leaving an illusion.  
I don't want to hide. It's foolish pride  
To close my eyes, a touch away from wanting you._

The dark blue police box shell of the TARDIS barrelled out of the space-time vortex and slowed its fast spin as it adjusted to being in actual space. Inside the darkened console room, green light from the time rotor cast shadows on the coral-like struts against the walls and on the angular features of the TARDIS’s thief: a tall, skinny, spiky-haired man known as the Doctor. His brown eyes and hair had darkened to black in the green light, and his entire face was furrowed in deep thought.

He’d saved 1953 London from the Wire a few hours ago and had been reunited with Rose, but he couldn’t forget the sight of her standing there in the police station without her face.

They’d taken her, chucked her out in the street, and _left her there_. As a result, that had made things simple, very, very simple.

It had also made him realize just how much he cared about her, and that he was tired of playing whatever waiting game they were making.

“Doctor?” Rose’s voice interrupted his thoughts, had him turning his head to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m always okay.” His hands, he noticed, were gripping the console so hard they’d turned white. He wasn’t sure if that was from pent-up anger or from stopping himself giving in to the urge to touch her, to have her hands on him.

Rose stepped forward, closer to him, and a shiver raced through him when her hand rested on his shoulder. “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “What is it?”

He forced himself to meet her eyes and saw only concern in the whiskey-colored orbs. Concern . . . and something else. That potent mixture had him confessing, “I almost lost you today. Rose, I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”

“You’re doing a lousy job of it,” she said with a tongue-in-cheek smile to show there were no hard feelings.

His expression hardened, and her smile died. “If something happened to you, something I couldn’t fix . . . if you _died_ . . . Rose, you and the TARDIS are all I have left.” A hollow laugh escaped. “Not to mention your mother would skin me alive and then crucify me.”

“Only after you’d—” At his cold look, she trailed off. “Sorry.”

He focused on the console, shook his head to clear it. “If I lose you, if you die because of me, I don’t know what I’d do, Rose.”

The hand that was on his shoulder slid across his neck. He turned toward her, let her embrace him, his angular frame to her curves. Suddenly he wanted more than just holding her. He needed to be sure she was real; he wanted to taste her, touch her. He’d waited this long; surely he could wait a bit longer.

“S’okay,” she murmured as he tightened his hold on her, buried his face in her hair. “We’ll always be okay, you and me.”

The Doctor closed his eyes, inhaled her scent, and tried to shake off the sense of foreboding that came with her words. After a long moment he drew back to study her face and found he couldn’t look away from her eyes. His own emotions were reflected in that golden-brown, along with the something else he’d seen earlier, something almost primal, animal.

 _There’s no need for this little trap, this game, of yours, Rose,_ he thought absent-mindedly. _It would have happened anyway._

“Doctor?”

“Hhhmm?” Then he realized one hand was tangled in her golden hair, the other slowly stroking her lower back.

“What’re you doing?” Her voice was a little bit unsteady, but he could hear her breath hitch, her heart beat a little bit faster.

His eyes searched hers again, settled on her lips. Damn the consequences; damn Rassilon’s policy on Time Lords mixing with other species; damn his own morals, rules, on becoming close with a companion. This was _Rose_ , and she was worth it.

Without thinking, without considering how she’d react, he kissed her. It might have lasted seconds, it might have lasted hours; then it was over.

He couldn’t read her expression, and that worried him. The Doctor swallowed hard, tried to find his voice. All that came out was, “Your room. Now. Right now.”

She stepped back, hesitated, then held out her hand. He took it, let her lead him down the twisting hallways to her room.

It was already open, and he silently thanked the TARDIS. In response, his ship sent her thief an image of him lying next to Rose, sheets rumpled and the duvet covering both of them.

Rose stopped, released his hand, and faced him. “Doctor, what’s wrong?”

“Rose, please.” His voice was raspy, with a hint of a Scottish lilt. “I want . . . I need . . .” _To be sure,_ he silently finished. He drew in a shuddering breath, locked his eyes on hers. “Please, Rose . . .,” he whispered, “just . . . let me make love to you.”

He was grateful for the dim light, but he could see her expression anyway. It bothered him that he couldn’t read it. Normally she was so easy to read.

Then soft lips pressed against his, hesitantly, as if she was still unsure about his intentions. The Doctor deepened the kiss, breaking it only to lift her shirt up over her head (she’d changed from her ’50s outfit to her Union Jack T-shirt and jeans). After that, undressing her (even as she did the same to him) was a blur.

They fell together easily, the Doctor on top, all angular lines and lean muscle. His right hand cupped her face as he continued to explore her mouth, deepening the kiss, begging entrance. The taste of her lingered on his palate and he wanted more, so much more.

Her arms wrapped around him; his left hand palmed her right breast, his thumb lazily stroking the taut, dusky bud of her nipple.

He had a respiratory bypass, but she did not. The Doctor broke the kiss, partly to give Rose a chance to breathe and partly so he could nuzzle at her neck. He’d never done this before, in any of his incarnations; the furthest he’d ever gone was a kiss. But he knew human anatomy (after traveling with so many for so long, how could he not?) and he’d never felt as strongly toward any of his companions—even Sarah Jane, even Grace—than he did toward Rose. This wasn’t just for reassuring himself that she was real, wasn’t just sex. He’d never let his hugs with Rose linger for too long for fear of the thought that finally making love to her would drive him crazy, if it hadn’t already.

Yet tonight, in this moment, being with Rose like this just felt so _right_. As he pressed a kiss to the pulse point in her throat, heard her sharp intake of breath, arousal rolled through him in a long slow wave.

Oh so slowly, he moved down from neck to left breast, teeth grazing the soft, supple skin. He nipped, suckled, teased her with his tongue. His right hand had dropped from her face and was now resting on the mattress, supporting his weight and making sure he didn’t crush her. Well, making sure he had room to maneuver, anyway—even inside his head he had a flare for the dramatic. But then, he always had been like that. Some things apparently never changed.

His left hand slid down her body, resting at the curve of her waist. Her nails dug into the skin between his shoulder blades as he concentrated his oral talents on her other breast. The Doctor flicked his gaze up to her face, saw the fire of desire and raw need in her eyes.

 _Oh, just you wait and see, Rose Tyler,_ he thought. _We haven’t even started yet._

She was small, he noticed, but nicely toned: all that running for their lives sure increased muscle mass and tone, decreased the amount of adipose. He could tell, at least, that she was more muscular than her mother—and it didn’t take long to push _that_ image out of his head.

Rose threw her head back against the pillow, moaned, arched into him. Almost reluctantly, he released her, pushed himself up on his elbows for more leverage. Then he was exploring the smooth planes of her stomach, darting the tip of his tongue into her navel. Her hands had moved from his upper back to his messy shock of brown hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. It felt good, soothing, and sent another wave of pleasure through him.

The Doctor lifted his head, met Rose’s glazed eyes, and found that, for once, words failed him. He licked his suddenly-dry lips, saw her eyes follow the movement. In that glassy stare he could see desire, yes, but something else as well, something he’d never been able to name. Combine that with the pheromones coming off her . . . He couldn’t hope to resist, couldn’t stop his gaze raking over her, falling deeper into fantasy.

Then he was spreading her legs, nosing his way into her musky heat. His lips found one spot on her inner thigh that had her moaning. So he kissed her there often, because the sweet sound meant more to him than anything else in the universe.

He teased her with fingers and tongue, reveled in the feel, the taste of her, in the fact that _he_ was the one bringing her ever closer to the edge.

She breathed in, came on something like a sob. He drank his fill; then again made his way slowly up her body, covered her mouth with his.

Rose was trembling with aftershocks, her body slick with exertion. The Doctor, in comparison, was relatively dry—which, to Rose, didn’t seem fair. But then, hardly anything affected him. It was just another reminder that even though he looked human, he was anything but.

Lyrical strains, strings of phrases, reached his ears, and the Doctor realized they were coming from him. It surprised him how easily he’d slipped into his mother tongue of Gallifreyan—but intermixed with that was Gaelic, the musical language of Ireland and Scotland. Where had he picked up Gaelic? Traveling with Jamie McCrimmon, maybe? Yes, probably. Though, at this point, the Doctor wasn’t even aware of what he was saying.

To torture them both, he slid inside her inch by inch, a moan escaping his lips. _Oh, gods._ In all his lives, he’d never felt anything that came close to _this_ , being completely surrounded by Rose, the human woman who’d wormed her way into and stolen both his hearts.

Even if he couldn’t tell her how he felt about her, he could show her. Right now.

She matched him move for move, thrust for thrust. He kept the rhythm long and slow; he didn’t want hard and fast, not now.

Rose cried out, arched beneath him as the wave that had been building broke over her. Her breath was coming in pants now, and the Doctor groaned softly. _He_ ’d done that to her.

_If it pleases you, it pleases me . . ._

He couldn’t hold back any longer. His fingers dug into her hips; his body shivered as he emptied himself into her—hearts, soul, and seed.

-oOo-

Afterward, he indulged himself by spooning her. His arms were wrapped around her sleeping form, holding her close to him; his chin rested on the top of her head. He closed his eyes, ducked his head to bury his face in her fan of golden hair. The Doctor took a deep breath, savored the scent that was uniquely Rose.

Silently, he promised himself that he would never leave her behind, not again, not after this. She meant too much to him. How could he ever willingly let her go?

Something he’d asked her on a rocky planet came back to him: _“How long are you going to stay with me?”_

Her answer? _“Forever.”_

No, he’d never leave her. He couldn’t do that, not to Rose. She meant everything to him.

But for now he would savor this moment in time, hold it close to his hearts. The two of them deserved that much, at least.

_Movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat._   
_Yeah, I’m wantin’, waitin’, touchin’ you._   
_We’ll be movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat._   
_Oh, babe, when you get that rhythm, gonna move into your room._

_Tonight—give me love with no disguise._   
_Tonight—I see the fire in your eyes._   
_Tonight—so right, this night, could it be dynamite?_   
_Wait and see. If it pleases you, it pleases me. . . ._


	8. Call My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Smith has been dreaming for months about a blonde woman named Rose. He has no idea just how real his dreams are—or that they're about to become reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "I Don't Want to Be Your Friend". Set in the same series 3 AU as that fic/chapter featuring a dimension-hopping Bad Wolf!Rose Tyler. Set during _Human Nature/The Family of Blood_. Recognizable dialogue on Rose's part comes from _The Day of the Doctor_.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Song:** "Call My Name" by Night Ranger
> 
>  **Originally published:** 16 January 2014

_I hear your voice; it was the sound of the city.  
I hear you call my name.  
And I hear that now you spend your life feeling pity,  
But who am I to blame?_

John Smith stirred restlessly in his sleep. He was trapped in his fantasy world again, where he was some sort of adventurer called the Doctor who traveled in a mysterious blue box. Sometimes his maid, Martha, was there; sometimes it was unspeakable horrors. But tonight, his dream was about a girl named Rose.

Funny, she showed up quite frequently in his dreams. And, oh, the things his dream self wanted to do to her . . . thinking about it when he was awake made him uncomfortable. He was in his thirties, at least, while she looked no more than twenty.  
But in this dream, all he could do was watch in horror as she was torn from him. Even as she fell, her name tore from his lips, rendering his throat hoarse with his screams.

_“ROOOOSSEEE! NOOOOO!”_

Then the scene shifted, and he was standing with her on rocky ground while strange-looking birds flew in the sky. Turning his head to look at her, he asked, _“How long are you gonna stay with me?”_

He smiled as she replied, _“Forever.”_ His hand squeezed hers in silent confirmation, and their gazes returned to the sky. . . .

He was standing facing Rose on a beach. The wind whipped at her hair; tears stained her cheeks. _“Am I ever going to see you again?”_

_“You can’t.”_

_“What are you going to do?”_

_“I’ve got the TARDIS. Same old life. Last of the Time Lords.”_

_“On your own?”_

He nodded. She paused, looked away. Then she faced him again and choked out, _“I . . . I love you.”_

He smiled sadly. _“Quite right, too. And I suppose . . . if it’s my last chance to say it . . . Rose Tyler—”_

She was gone before he could finish the sentence. He was alone in his TARDIS, mouth poised to say the letter _I_. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he bowed his head.

His dream shifted again. Now he was with Martha walking down a medieval street when a noise made him turn around. He saw a familiar face, a flash of blonde hair, and he stepped forward, her name slipping from his lips: _“Rose . . .”_

 _Why_ did she keep showing up in his dreams? What was she to this Doctor? Was she just a companion, or something more, like a lover?

 _“I am the Bad Wolf.”_ Rose was standing before him, eyes glowing gold. _“I create myself. I take the words. I scatter them through time and space—a message to lead myself here.”_

“Mr. Smith?”

Martha’s voice dragged him (metaphorically) kicking and screaming out of his dream. His eyes snapped open and blinked a couple of times to focus his vision. “What is it, Ms. Jones?”

She jumped. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Mr. Smith.”

“You didn’t,” he told her, wishing he could finish his dream of this pink-and-yellow girl that haunted his thoughts day and night. “Carry on.”

“It’s just, you’re needed. Downstairs, I mean.”

He nodded, gracefully rose to his feet. “Thank you, Ms. Jones.”

Martha hesitated, looked like she was going to say something, then thought better of it and turned to leave.

When she was gone, John thought he heard a female voice whisper, _“Doctor . . .”_

He whirled around, saw nothing, and hurried to the window.

His heart sank to his stomach when he didn’t see anyone, and he realized some part of him had wanted _her_ to be there.

He turned his head, hoping another viewing angle would help, and thought he saw a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye.

John drew back, shook his head. Now he was hearing things, seeing glimpses of people who existed only in his dreams.

Maybe he was going mad.

Or he already had. After all, he sometimes dreamed he had two hearts.

-oOo-

Rose Tyler materialized outside the grounds of an old school, gold swirling around her before it was absorbed back into her body. She knew how that her appearances in her home universe weren’t due to the Dimension Cannon they were working on in Torchwood. No, it was Bad Wolf. The Doctor had said he’d taken it all out of her. Obviously he hadn’t, not if these jumps were anything to go by.

So where was she now? Judging by the clothes passerby were wearing, it was pre-World War I. It was definitely a school—she could tell as much from all the young boys running around following orders from a stern-looking balding man with a mustache. A newspaper could tell her the exact date, and Rose silently noted to find one as soon as possible.

Really, all she knew for certain was that the Doctor had to be nearby. If she could find Martha, then she could find the Doctor.  
Of course, knowing her Time Lord, trouble couldn’t be far behind.

A small smile appeared at the thought. He’d never been one to run from danger, though he claimed that trouble came looking for him and not the other way around.

Well, if she was going to be here for a while (and she planned on it), she was definitely going to have to find new clothes. That would be fun. _Then_ she could start searching for the Doctor and Martha.

Yet for some reason her eyes were drawn to a single window on the second floor. Rose moved closer, saw that it was open and a familiar figure was standing there.

 _“Doctor.”_ The name left her lips automatically, more of a whisper than anything else—one that carried on the sudden gentle breeze—but the man inside the room hurried to the window, looked out.

Rose ducked around the corner before he could catch a good look, her golden hair fanning out behind her before she disappeared from his view.

Well, at least she knew he was here. Right now, her main focus was on finding clothes more suited to this time period. Then she could find a way of sneaking into the school.

After a little looking around first. At least she was free to go wandering off this time. Besides, old habits die hard.

She could always keep an eye out for possible trouble while out on the town. Her own feelings for the Doctor combined with Bad Wolf’s need to protect him made her a formidable enemy when crossed. The Dalek Emperor had found that out the hard way.

 _Might as well get a move on, then,_ Rose told herself even as she turned down the path that led to the nearest village.

-oOo-

John was relieved when the break for lunch came. His teaching skills this morning had been considerably off—and he suspected he knew the reason why. He was distracted, couldn’t stop reliving that flash of golden hair he’d seen ducking around the corner of the school, couldn’t stop thinking about the blonde-haired girl in his dreams. Last night hadn’t been the only time he’d dreamed of her, his Rose. Some of his dreams starring her had been particularly vivid, left him aching for her when he woke.

But they were only dreams, yes? So why did he keep dreaming of a girl he’d never met as if he _did_ know her, intimately?

Maybe writing in his journal would help. He’d started keeping a journal of impossible things where he wrote down what he remembered from his dreams, where he was the Doctor. Rose had already been featured in his journal, as had an assortment of other people: Mickey the idiot, Captain Jack, some bloke named Adam, a feisty redhead called Donna. Strange, strange creatures showed up, too: Daleks; Cybermen; Zygons; Auton; Carrionites; Slitheen; the “Last Human,” also known as Cassandra; vampires; werewolves; the Beast, Satan, the Devil; Ood . . . How had the Doctor been able to see all this and not go completely insane?

In a way, maybe he had. He kept going from one adventure to the next, kept _running,_ because he dared not look back.

Before he knew what he was doing he’d written a full two pages in his journal: his latest dreams about Rose, about seeing the glimpse of gold out his window.

He _knew_ he had heard someone call his name . . .

When the lunch hour was over and he was done teaching for the day, John decided to take a walk into town, see what was happening there.

 _And maybe run into a certain blonde,_ a voice inside his head said.

 _Aw, shut up,_ he snapped back.

Yet when he did arrive, he found he couldn’t stop searching for a flash of blonde hair.

Hang on. Right now, he _did_ see a familiar figure. Her blonde hair was done up and she was wearing a dress, period clothing, but even so . . .

“Rose?” he called out, half hoping half _knowing_ it was her.

But before he could get a closer look, a group of people passed in front of him. When they were clear, Rose—if that had been Rose—was gone.

John felt like there was an ache in the right side of his chest; if he’d had a second heart, that was where it would break. His single heart, as it was, had already sunk to his stomach.

_No. Not again! I can’t lose her again!_

John couldn’t believe he’d been here for two months without seeing her, and now she was popping up everywhere he looked.

His legs were moving before his brain registered the movement, heading toward where he’d last seen her. He glanced right, left, but she was nowhere to be found. She’d just . . . vanished.

_NO!_

When he stopped, later, to think about it, he couldn’t help wondering why it was so important for him to find her. After all, she didn’t really exist . . . right?

-oOo-

Rose materialized outside the school again, nerves jangling. That had been close. It had taken her a while to figure out how to use Bad Wolf’s powers, but even now it was difficult calling on them at will. The teleportation was useful, though she hated being able to see every single person’s timeline—watching how their lives ended. If this was what the Doctor saw all the time, how did he stand it? That first time she’d looked into the heart of TARDIS . . . no wonder she’d almost died. It had been too much for her human brain to handle.

At least, this time, it was a small amount of the Time Vortex and she could call on and release it (sort of) at will.  
Before the Doctor had found her, she’d found a paper that told her the date: November 9, 1913. So she knew when she was, but she didn’t quite know where she was. All she knew was that it was England. (Would it kill the Doctor to go to America? That one time in Utah didn’t count; they had been underground the whole time.)

Rose instantly made a run for cover when she spotted Martha Jones exiting the school. She looked on curiously as Martha glanced around before heading off into a patch of woodland.

Could that be where they’d parked the TARDIS?

Rose’s feet were following Martha before Rose herself had made the decision. The Doctor’s newest companion didn’t seem to suspect she was being watched, for which Rose was grateful. Martha stopped when she came across a large, old shed. Rose padded after her, slipped inside, and quickly ducked into a hiding place as Martha went into the TARDIS. Somehow, she definitely didn’t think Martha would appreciate her showing up in their lives again, especially since she’d faded away before the Doctor had a second chance to finish what they’d started on Bad Wolf Bay. So she waited until Martha left, then used her TARDIS key to enter the timeship.

Rose could tell the old girl was powered down—not off completely, but running on emergency power—but she headed for the console monitor. If she could call up what Martha had been watching . . . A-ha!

The Doctor’s face filled the screen, and Rose smiled. It faded as she listened to the recorded message.

So, the Doctor had made himself human to hide from the Family and now the Time Lord part of him was hidden inside a fob watch. Okay. That explained the period clothing, at least, and why Martha had gone alone to the TARDIS.

But what was the reason for Rose being here? Unless . . . No. Surely the universe wouldn’t . . . On second thought, yes it would. She’d already saved the Doctor from the false god and Nestene Consciousness, so why not the Family of Blood?  
Even though the TARDIS had been the one place she’d always felt safe, Rose was suddenly uneasy—and she couldn’t shake the feeling. She had to get back to the school. Now.

Not caring if Martha or anyone else saw her, Rose exited the TARDIS and shed and booked it in the direction of the school. It was almost dark by now—Had the day really gone by that fast?—and in midstride she dissolved into a stream of gold, materializing inside a room that looked as though it belonged to one of the teachers.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when the door opened and the Doctor—no, he wasn’t the Doctor, he was John Smith—entered, closing the door behind him. His back was to her, but he suddenly stiffened. “Who’s there?”

“No one.” The words slipped out in a low, sultry tone that took even her by surprise. He whirled around, eyes wide, mouth gaping open. Her own eyes flared gold as she added, “It’s just a Wolf.”

_Your silhouette always appears in my window.  
I close my eyes and hear  
The applause of a thousand different strangers,  
And everyone seems sincere._

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “No. You’re not real. You can’t be.” Yet somewhere inside his head he was hearing the sincere applause of so many different strangers.

Soft lips brushed against his for the briefest of moments, their touch feather-light, and then pulled back. A faint whimper escaped at the loss even as he reached out a hand, took a step forward, searching for her.

He only encountered air.

_No . . . Please, no. Don’t do this to me._

His eyes opened.

She was gone.

If she’d ever been there at all.

_Or did you notice? Was it you that I hear?  
I hear you call my name. . . ._

“Over here, Doctor.”

His head snapped ’round at the voice, saw the blonde woman (Rose, some part of his mind whispered) was sitting on his bed. She flashed him a smile, patted the space next to her. He took an involuntary step back: It wouldn’t be proper; he was in his thirties, a good ten years older than she was . . . but there were his dreams, the Doctor’s fantasies about this particular human woman.

Her smile had faded, and she was looking at him with an emotion he couldn’t place. She said, “Stuck between a girl and a box. Story of your life, eh, Doctor?”

“Who _are_ you? And why do you keep calling me ‘Doctor’?”

She smiled, faintly. “Normally you’d call me Rose Tyler, but in this form I’m known as”—her eyes glinted gold—“Bad Wolf.”

The words rang in his head, reminding him of something that slipped out of his reach whenever he tried recalling it. He took a step back, a myriad of emotions flitting over his face.

“What’s the matter, Doctor? Scared of the big Bad Wolf?”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not the Doctor, I’m John Smith!”

“You _were_ the Doctor,” she corrected. “You _became_ human in order to hide.” She grinned wolfishly. “You also never answered my question. Are you scared?”

He closed his eyes, fought to control his racing heart. _Was_ he scared? Yes, but not of her: He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was _something_ coming. No, he couldn’t be scared of her—Rose, Bad Wolf, whoever she was—not really. Not when looking at her stirred something deep in the back of his mind, sent his heart beating slightly faster than normal. And her voice . . . it reached inside, under his skin, twisted him around.

Surely this couldn’t be real. He _had_ to be dreaming.

Rustling fabric reached his ears, and moments later he could sense her standing in front of him. She was so, so warm . . .  
“No . . .” The word slipped out, softly, and he wasn’t sure if he was answering her question or protesting against what was about to happen.

If anybody came in . . .

Had he locked the door? He’d thought he had.

“Dance with me,” she breathed, her voice a caress, breath warm on his ear, and he wasn’t sure who was speaking—Rose or Bad Wolf.

Not that he really believed it was her, but . . .

He swallowed, opened his eyes, gave her the slightest of nods.

She kissed him then, tenderly, softly, even as her hands were sliding off his jacket, his shirt, undoing the ridiculous bow tie around his neck. His own hands were busy, pulling at where her dress was done up in the back. It slid from her, pooled on the floor at her feet.

After that, it was a blur: Skin on skin, the taste of her, moans, pleas, voices crying out—he wasn’t sure which was his and which was hers anymore—and then he was inside her, and— _Oh, gods, please let this be real—_

When she went over, he followed her.

He laid beside her for some time, toying with her strands of golden hair, inhaling her scent—one that spoke of time and stars and chips—but eventually he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

When he snapped awake the next morning, she was gone—as if she’d never been there at all.

For a moment, he thought he heard a now-familiar voice whisper, _“Doctor.”_ Then it, too, faded away.

_I hear your voice; it was the sound of the city.  
I hear you call my name.  
I hear you call my name._


	9. Trap of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha reflects on her feelings for the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during series 3.
> 
>  **Pairing:** unrequited Martha Jones/Tenth Doctor  
>  **Rating:** T  
>  **Song:** "Trap of Love" by Crush/Daphne Blake feat. The Hex Girls (From _Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated_ s01e07 "In the Fear of the Phantom")
> 
>  **Originally published:** 24 January 2014

_Your unfeeling heart imprisons me  
_ _Careless eyes too blind to see  
_ _Empty words, an iron cage  
_ _Broken heart, bleeding rage_

Martha Jones was currently perched on the yellow captain’s chair in the control room of the TARDIS watching the Doctor as he tinkered with something on the underside of the console.

She was also thinking about her relationship—such as it was—with him. Even though she was in love with him, he didn’t seem to notice. At times, he was downright cold to her. Whenever he mentioned Rose, it took everything she had not to slap him and yell that Rose wasn’t here, she was, and couldn’t he pay attention to her?

Yet at the same time she knew she would never be good enough for him, would always be second best, because how could she _ever_ compare with the fantastic, brilliant Rose Tyler?

Then there was that time he’d told her about his home planet. It had just been empty words, all of it. His planet was gone and they could never visit.

If she stayed with him, Martha’s heart was just going to end up even more broken than it was now.

She muttered, _“Can’t wait for you and me. It’s time I break free . . .”_

The Doctor’s head suddenly popped out from under the console. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Martha just rolled her eyes and sighed loudly through her nose.

_Clueless git._

And yet, she couldn’t help but love him to bits.

_Trap of love  
_ _Snared by desire  
_ _Trap of love  
_ _Burned by your fire  
_ _Trap of love  
_ _Snared by desire  
_ _Trap of love  
_ _Beware the trap of love._

Admittedly, she’d been attracted to him even before he’d kissed her on the moon. (He’d said that was just a genetic transfer—that it meant nothing—but she couldn’t help thinking otherwise. After all, there _were_ other ways to initiate a genetic transfer, weren’t there?)

Martha loved traveling with the Doctor—she did—but he was like fire: If you stood too close, you’d be burned. At other times, he gave her the cold shoulder. When he looked at her, Martha sometimes had the impression it wasn’t her he was seeing at all, but Rose.

It wasn’t healthy for her, this one-sided obsession with him, but how could she escape this trap she’d stepped into?

_Let me be.  
_ _It’s time we part  
_ _Set me free  
_ _Uncage my heart_

After the whole situation with the Master and the year that never was had been dealt with, and after Jack had been reunited with his Torchwood team, Martha stood in the TARDIS facing the Doctor. She’d realized that she had to stay behind in order to help her family. Besides, she had to finish her medical training. It was more than that, though. All that time on her own had made her realize she didn’t need the Doctor, that she wasn’t second best—no matter what the Master had said.

She told the Doctor as much, adding in a story about one of her friends and how said friend had spent months pining after a guy who hadn’t even noticed her.

“So this is me,” Martha finished, “getting out.” Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she kissed the Doctor on the cheek and walked out.

She’s noticed the look on his face as she left, and it hurt that he didn’t seem to be all that upset about her leaving him. Martha tried telling herself that she didn’t care whether he did or not.

But she didn’t believe it.

And even though she heard the sound of the TARDIS vanishing behind her, even though she forced herself not to look around as she walked away, she couldn’t help wishing he would come back for her.

He never did.

_Can’t wait for you and me.  
_ _t’s time for you to see . . ._

_Trap of love  
_ _Snared by desire  
_ _Trap of love  
_ _Burned by your fire  
_ _Trap of love  
_ _Snared by desire_  
_Trap of love  
_ _Beware the trap of love_


	10. Dark Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Tentoo's attempt to build a life together in Pete's World takes a very dark turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Journey's End_. Pete's World AU feat. Rose/Tentoo/Martha.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Tenth Doctor Duplicate/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor Duplicate/Martha Jones  
>  **Rating:** Teen and Up  
>  **Song:** "Dark Lady" by Cher
> 
>  **Originally published:** 1 February 2014

_The fortune queen of New Orleans was brushing her cat in her black limousine.  
On the backseat were scratches from the marks of men, her fortune she had won.  
Couldn't see through the tinted glass. She said, "Home, James," and he hit the gas.  
I followed her to some darkened room. She took my money; she said, "I'll be with you soon."_

_Dark Lady laughed and danced and lit the candles one by one,  
Danced to her gypsy music till her brew was done.  
Dark Lady played black magic 'till the clock struck on the twelve.  
She told me more about me than I knew myself._

Rose Tyler looked around her with wide eyes, enjoying the sight of New Orleans. As was the norm in Pete’s World, zeppelins flew in the sky. There were more here in America than in London, if that were possible, but she wasn’t paying much attention to the zeppelins. No, she was busy taking in the smells and sounds of the historic Louisiana city. The meta-crisis Doctor was walking with her, his hand holding hers and his gob going at a hundred miles an hour as he pointed out some building or other. Rose tried to pay attention, she really did, but after a few minutes she just let the words flow in one ear and out the other and just concentrated on the sound of his voice. It was rougher than her original Doctor’s and occasionally some of Donna’s mannerisms would peek through, but in mind and body he was identical to the Time Lord she’d fallen in love with—save for the fact he had one heart and a normal human lifespan. He’d explained to her that his physiology was mostly Gallifreyan with a few human quirks. She took that to mean he still had his Time Lord abilities, even though they were probably weakened due to him being part human.

A black limousine pulled up beside them, halting the Doctor’s monologue. Rose and the Doctor watched curiously as the back passenger door opened to reveal . . .

“Martha?” the two said in unison, surprised.

She smiled and nodded slightly, her hand moving over the back of the cat in her lap. Rose, with a jolt of unease, noticed the cat’s pelt was black. Yellow eyes stared back at her, and she swallowed. What was she thinking? She didn’t believe in witchcraft anyway.

“Rose.” Martha patted the space next to her. “Come on. I want to talk to you.”

Rose hesitated, glanced back at the Doctor. Worry flashed in his eyes before he gave her a slight nod. He murmured, “I’ll see you later.”

Not altogether reassured, Rose slid into the backseat. She kept having to remind herself that this wasn’t the Martha Jones she’d met briefly back in her home universe. This was an alternate Martha, though why she would live in New Orleans making a living as a infamous fortune teller known on the streets as the Dark Lady was anybody’s guess.

At least she still had the English accent.

The windows were so tinted that Rose couldn’t see the Doctor through them. She also noticed that the backseat was covered in scratches—maybe from the cat, maybe from something else.

“Home, James,” Martha told the driver, and he hit the gas.

It never occurred to Rose that Martha knew her name when she hadn’t told her. But then, why would it? She was the daughter of Pete Tyler—head of Vitex Industries—and leader of a Torchwood team. It was only natural that she be recognized.

Right?

They pulled up outside a large Victorian. Rose followed the Dark Lady into a darkened room off the foyer. The room looked like something out of a movie: heavy dark purple drapes; candles, unlit; even a covered table with a crystal ball.

Martha held out her hand. Rose dug in her pocket, found a five dollar bill, and handed it to her.

“I’ll be with you soon,” Martha said, gesturing for Rose to take a seat.

Rose did, watching the other woman as she practically danced around the room. A soft laugh spilled from her throat as she turned on some soft instrumental music, lit the candles one by one.

_Well, this isn’t strange at all,_ Rose thought wryly.

The Dark Lady—funny, she wasn’t really thinking of her as Martha anymore—turned back to Rose with a deck of cards in her hand. She sat across the table from her customer, shuffled the cards, and laid five of them out. The backs were identical, and Rose couldn’t tell if this was a Tarot deck or not. (Tarot was normally used for predictions; she had no idea how a regular deck would work. Even in Tarot there were two different decks.)

Two of the cards were turned up—a queen and a three. Dark Lady mumbled some words that were so strange to Rose—the blonde didn’t know if she was speaking a foreign language or if it was just gibberish. If the words _were_ in a foreign language, it wasn’t one Rose recognized.

Rose wasn’t sure if she believed in fortune-telling or not, but it was unnerving how much Martha knew about her. She told Rose more about her than she knew herself—she’d even mentioned Bad Wolf.

Then the Dark Lady turned up a two-eyed jack. Rose’s eyes saw crimson, but the card still stayed black.

Martha studied the cards intently. Finally she said, “The man you love is secretly true to someone else who is very close to you.”

Rose’s eyes flashed. “No.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that. Not to me—not after everything we’ve been through.” Her voice turned acidic: “But then, you know all about that, don’t you?”

The other woman shrugged, ignored the barbed comment. “My advice is that you leave this place, never come back, and forget you ever saw my face.”

Rose glared at her for a long moment. As she stood up, she caught a whiff of the Dark Lady’s perfume. She couldn’t say she liked it, but something about it seemed vaguely familiar.

Shaken but trying to hide it, Rose whirled out of the house. She hailed a taxi to take her back to the house she was staying at—she’d arranged it with Torchwood—and texted the Doctor to let her know where she was heading.

When she arrived it was dark and no one was home. Rose collapsed on her bed, but she was too wound up to sleep. Her mind kept replaying the scene in that room, kept going over everything that had been said. Then there was the perfume. _Where_ had she smelled it before?

She turned over in bed, buried her face in the pillow. Something clicked inside her head and she shot up.

_No. He wouldn’t. He_ wouldn’t . . .

Yet her nose—and Dark Lady—were telling her otherwise.

Her initial shock and disbelief slowly turned to anger. Now that she thought about it, the Doctor _had_ been uncomfortable when Martha first pulled up and invited Rose to come with her. And had that worry in his eyes been for Rose, or was he afraid that she’d find out his secret?

Without thinking, she grabbed her Torchwood-issue weapon and stormed out the house. Fifteen minutes later she was back at Martha’s house.

Rose searched the house, came upon a closed door on the upper floor. Judging from the sounds, this was the bedroom.

A sick feeling in her stomach, heart in her throat, Rose opened the door.

Rage burned through her, hot as flame then cold as ice. They were laughing, kissing, and _her_ hands were on _Rose’s Doctor. That_ was _not_ acceptable.

The Doctor noticed Rose first. He paled, scurried as far away from Martha as he could. Actually, he fell off the bed and took the sheets with him.

Martha wasn’t as startled. In fact, Rose was sure she saw a slight smile flickering on the other woman’s lips.

The next thing Rose knew, she was dead on the floor. Dark Lady would never turn a card up anymore.

As for the Doctor . . .

She turned on him, hackles raised and eyes flashing. He shrank back, fear and same in his eyes. “Rose, I—”

She cut him off. “I thought I knew you.”

Unable to kill him, she turned and walked away. Maybe she could forgive him, but not now. Not today.

He’d have to earn it. At least now she didn’t have to worry about any version of Martha Jones.

_Dark lady laughed and danced  
_ _And lit the candles one by one  
_ _Danced to her gypsy music  
_ _Till her brew was done_

_Dark lady played black magic  
_ _Till the clock struck on the twelve . . ._


	11. Popular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Reinette have an . . . _interesting_ conversation when the two finally meet face-to-face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crackfic. Set during _The Girl in the Fireplace_. 
> 
> **Song:** "Popular" from _Wicked_
> 
>  **Originally published:** 7 June 2014

Reinette was standing near a window, looking out at the night sky, when Rose stepped through the portal from the 51st century spaceship. The French aristocrat turned around after a few seconds, studied Rose critically, and then said, “Rose, now that we're friends, I’ve decided to make you my new project.”

Rose, taken aback, flinched and raised her hands in front of her to waist level. “You really don’t have to do that,” she said quickly. Where had this come from? What made Reinette think they were friends? They hardly knew each other! The only thing they had in common was the Doctor, and not even him.

“I know,” Reinette said brightly. “That's what makes me so nice!”

Rose blinked, feeling her ire rise, and sat down in the closest chair.

Reinette, who had been sitting in a chair across from Rose and now stood, didn’t seem to notice as she continued, “Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I (and let’s face it—who isn’t less fortunate than I?) my tender heart tends to start to bleed. And when someone needs a makeover, I simply have to take over. I know, I know exactly what they need.” Reinette, walked closer to Rose until she was up in the other woman’s face, ran a strand of Rose’s wavy blonde hair through her fingers before letting it drop. “And even in your case, though it’s the toughest case I’ve yet to face, don’t worry—I’m determined to succeed. Follow my lead and yes, indeed you will be popular. You’re gonna be popular!”

Rose, more than a little disconcerted, stepped back out of the French woman’s reach. What the hell had brought this on? She was also starting to become more than a little irritated. (And why was Reinette quoting a song from _Wicked_ , which wouldn’t be written for another two centuries or so? Then again, she was on a spaceship with time windows to France, which shouldn’t have been possible in the first place and had screwed up Reinette’s timeline anyway. So why not just go with it?)

“I’ll teach you the proper poise when you talk to boys, little ways to flirt and flounce—ooh! I’ll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair, everything that really counts to be popular. I’ll help you be popular!”

Rose shook her head. That wasn’t what she wanted, at all, and she was perfectly happy traveling with the Doctor. And Mickey, she supposed, but mostly the Doctor. Not that she appreciated his current behavior with Madame de Pompadour, who—if she remembered her history lessons correctly—was actually a commoner, the illegitimate daughter of a financier exiled for fraud; despised by other women of the King’s social class; and had to work hard for her role as King Louis XV’s mistress. Besides, she’d never cared about being one of the in-crowd when she was at school; that had never appealed to her.

Reinette’s voice had turned to more of a singsong by now, and she was definitely ignoring Rose’s silent objections. “You'll hang with the right cohorts,” she continued. “You’ll be good at sports, know the slang you've got to know. So let's start ’cause you've got an awfully long way to go.”

Rose pulled a face, which Reinette _did_ notice. The French blonde reassured her, “Don’t be offended by my frank analysis. Think of it as personality dialysis.”

 _Yeah, that helps,_ Rose thought sarcastically.

“Now that I’ve chosen to become a pal, a sister and adviser, there’s nobody wiser. Not when it comes to popular—I know about popular. And with an assist from me to be who you’ll be instead of dreary who-you-were—well, are!—there’s nothing that can stop you from becoming popular—lar,” Reinette corrected herself. She bust into song with “La la, la la” then went back to the singsong cadence: “We’re gonna make you popular.

“When I see depressing creatures with unprepossessing features I remind them on their own behalf to think of celebrated heads of state or especially great communicators. Did they have brains or knowledge? Don’t make me laugh! Ha, ha! They were popular!

“Please— It’s all about popular! It’s not about aptitude. It's the way you're viewed. So it's very shrewd to be very, very popular like me!”

Rose flinched back, stung. Was Reinette helping her or making fun of her? Just because she was a shopgirl from London in the 21st century didn’t mean that—

Reinette voice broke into her thoughts as the French beauty said softly, “Why, Rose, look at you. You're beautiful.”

Rose backed up, heading for the portal she’d come through. “I—I have to go:” Without waiting for Reinette’s answer, she turned and fled, not bothering to look back.

“You’re welcome,” Reinette called after her. Her singing voice followed Rose all the way back to the TARDIS:

“And though you protest your disinterest, I know clandestinely you’re gonna grin and bear it—your new found popularity—hah! La, la, la, la . . . You’ll be popular— just not quite as popular as me!”

The last note hung in the air, drawn out only to be covered by the sound of otherworldly engines as the Doctor’s timeship dematerialized, leaving behind a portrait of the woman whom the 51st century spaceship was named after.


	12. Even in Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People die, but real love is forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Doomsday/Journey's End_ AU, as the beginning could take place during either the Battle of Canary Wharf or the Dalek Invasion of 2009. Angst. Dark. Major character death.
> 
>  **Song:** "Even in Death" by Evanescence
> 
>  **Originally published:** 8 June 2015

_Give me a reason to believe that you're gone._   
_I see your shadow, so I know they're all wrong._   
_Moonlight on the soft brown earth, it leads me to where you lay._   
_They took you away from me, but now I'm taking you home._

A scream of pain had the Doctor whirling around. Horrified, he watched as the bright green glow faded from Rose’s body and she fell to the ground.

“Noo!” Heedless of the danger to himself, of the deadly beams of light flying through the air from Daleks, he dove for her body.

“Rose? _Rose?”_ His voice cracked as he shook her—her eyes blank and staring—willed her to respond. She wasn’t dead—she _couldn’t be dead._ “Rose, c’mon. Please. Don’t leave me.”

There was no pulse, no heartbeat—no signs of life.

_No!_ He couldn’t lose her, not again . . .

And yet, there was nothing he could do.

* * *

The funeral was held a few weeks later. He stood with Jack, Martha, Mickey, Sarah Jane, and Jackie, saying nothing as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Clouds covered the sky, thunder rolled, and rain started pouring down.

It matched his mood perfectly.

The minister was saying something, but the words were white noise in the Doctor’s ears. His hearts felt cold and heavy in his chest.

Rose _wasn’t_ dead, not unless he had a reason to believe otherwise.

The others left, some in pairs, others one by one, but he stayed.

He could hear her laugh on the gentle breeze, could see her smile and feel her deliciously warm human body against his own cool form whenever he closed his eyes.

They were wrong, all of them. She. Was. _Not. Dead._

* * *

Clouds drifted across the night sky, partly obscuring the nearly-full moon. Silver light lit the way for him as he wove through the cemetery, the soft brown earth beneath his feet appearing to shift between black and various shades of gray.

The Doctor stopped in front of the newly-dug grave, read the headstone. It listed her name (Rose Marion Tyler) as well as her birth date and the day she’d died. His eyes swept over the inscription; then he stepped back, lifted the shovel from his shoulder, and began to dig.

He wasn’t sure how long he worked at clearing the earth away, but five feet down his shovel hit a hard surface. Minutes later, the rest of the dirt was cleared away, he’d soniced the lid open, and he was staring down at Rose’s cold, pale face.

_They took you away from me,_ he thought as he bent down and scooped up her body, _but now I’m taking you home._

The Doctor slung Rose over his shoulder, tossed the shovel up, and climbed out of the grave. He didn’t bother to fill it back in. Let them find it and discover that her body was gone.

She was back with _him_ now, right where she belonged. That was all that mattered.

Once the Doctor was inside his TARDIS, he eased Rose down onto the yellow chair then sent his ship into the Vortex. Soon they were in deep space, and he picked her up and carried her into his room. After laying her down on his bed, he shed his outer layers of clothing—shoes, suit jacket, tie—and lay beside her.

_I will stay forever here with you, my love._   
_The softly spoken words you gave me:_   
_Even in death our love goes on._

One arm banded across her chest; he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. The Doctor inhaled deeply, searching for _her_ scent. Beneath the earth, the embalming liquid, the stench of death, he could detect a very faint trace of that particular smell he’d always categorized as _Rose_.

He _would_ find a way to bring her back. He _had_ to.

His lips grazed her cold, lifeless forehead, lingered there for a few moments.

Rassilon, he loved her.

He kissed her once more, then closed his eyes and slipped into a rare deep sleep.

* * *

The shrill sound of the ringing mobile woke him hours later. Cursing in Gallifreyan, the Doctor fished the phone out of his trousers pocket, saw who was calling. He sighed but answered it anyway: “Yeah, Jackie?”

“Get your skinny alien arse over here _now_!” There was no mistaking the anger in her tone.

“Well, I’m in deep space at the moment, so . . .”

“Don’t you dare get clever with me, Doctor,” Jackie snapped, “or I’ll slap you so hard you’ll regenerate. What the _hell_ have you done with my Rose?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Don’t give me that. Just get over here.” She hung up before he could say anything else.

The Doctor ended the call, shut the phone, sighed, and spared a glance at his precious girl. “I’m sorry, Rose, but . . . I should’ve expected this.”

There was no reply, not that he expected one. But just for a moment he thought he heard her voice—gentle, teasing:

_Of course you didn’t._ Her voice was followed by a wry laugh. Beneath that, he thought he could hear music—singing.

He took her hand, squeezed gently. Then he was heading for the console room.

* * *

When he stepped out of the TARDIS into Jackie’s flat, he was greeted with a slap across the face.

“Ow!” The sting hurt like hell, and he figured he would have a red mark for a week. Indignantly, the Doctor rubbed at the sore spot. “What was that for?!” Yes, his voice had gone all squeaky, but he couldn’t help it.

Jackie glared at him. “You know bloody well what. My Rose is _gone_! Someone stole her body!”

“Really? Who?”

“I’d say we’re looking at him,” said a familiar male voice. The Doctor’s eyes slid past Jackie to take in Jack and Mickey. It was the immortal Torchwood Three leader who had spoken. Both Jack and Rose’s ex-boyfriend were staring at him with hard eyes, Jack with his arms folded across his chest and Mickey with his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Jack, Mickey, d’you really think I would—”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Mickey’s voice was as cold as his eyes—and _that_ was something the Doctor wouldn’t have thought possible of the tin dog.

The Time Lord wheeled around, hands raking through his hair, a growl in the back of his throat. “Don’t you get it? _I love her!_ ”

“And you think _that_ gives you the right to dig up her body?” Jack said. His blue eyes narrowed. “Where is she, Doctor?”

“Um . . . my room.”

Their reactions were instantaneous: Jackie and Mickey recoiled, horror in their eyes, while even Jack looked a little squicked.

“Y-y-you . . . That’s just sick!” Mickey looked as if he was about to either pulverize him or he was going to throw up.

Jack exhaled slowly. “Even _I_ wouldn’t do that, Doctor.”

As for Jackie, the Doctor had to duck in order to avoid the vase she’d thrown at his head. It hit the side of the TARDIS and shattered into pieces. He raised his hands up to protect his face even as he glared at her. “What?” he asked, puzzled.

“Get _out_ ,” Jackie hissed. “Don’t come near me again. And keep your hands _off_ my daughter!”

His brown eyes hardened, then clouded over. “She’s _not_ gone. I’ll bring her back. I _can_ bring her back. I can do anything!”

Mickey shook his head in disbelief. “You’re crazy,” the idiot breathed.

Concern was crowding out the horror in Jack’s eyes. The former Time Agent stepped forward, hands out in a non-threatening gesture. “Doctor, I think you’d better leave.”

“Fine,” the Time Lord grumbled. “I didn’t want to be around you lot anyway.”

The TARDIS disappeared moments later. Jackie, Captain Jack, and Mickey exchanged worried glances. They wanted to help . . . but each of them knew the Doctor would never allow it.

* * *

His timeship was orbiting near the Scorpion Nebula, and the Doctor was curled up beside his pink-and-yellow human. He toyed with strands of her hair, rolling it between two of his fingers, while he explained what had happened in her flat.

“They think I’m crazy, Rose.” A bitter half-laugh emerged from his throat. “Maybe I am—but I’ve always known that.” _But no bonds can hold me from your side, oh my love._ “They don’t know you can’t leave me. Rose, they don’t hear you singing to me.” Even now, he could hear the music, could hear her singing inside his mind. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but it was there nevertheless.

How could he bring her back? The Doctor cast about for an idea, anything that might work.

Didn’t he still have his hand—the one Jack had taken after his fight with the Sycorax? Yes, that . . . that might work. Now all he had to do was find it.

He smiled. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered to her before sliding from the bed and padding out of the room to search for his severed hand.

It was still in its container, the liquid inside bubbling and glowing with energy. The Doctor removed it carefully with a pair of tongs, placed the hand on Rose’s chest, and waited eagerly.

For several long moments nothing happened. Then there was a faint golden glow. The energy reached out for Rose’s cold, pale skin . . . then stopped and retreated back into its Time Lord limb.

The Doctor’s hearts stopped. It hadn’t worked. _It hadn’t worked._

Blood roared in his ears. _NO! Nonono! Work! Please! Please, please, this_ has _to work . . . I_ need _her. . . ._

He sat there, mute, as time passed, watching his severed hand full of regeneration energy like a hawk. There was no change, nothing that indicated his Rose had returned to him.

His throat suddenly felt tight. It was hard to breathe. His vision blurred; his eyes felt hot. _“Aryktior. Please.”_

Hardly aware of what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her, held her close to his chest.

The rest of the universe could go to hell as far as he was concerned. He would stay here with her forever. Rassilon help him, he couldn’t love her any more than he already did. And how could he live in a universe without Rose Tyler?

He could still see her, hear her, taste her, feel her. She’d always be with him. Always. Even when—if—he regenerated, there was no way he could forget her. How could he?

For a moment, just a brief moment, he thought he heard her voice whisper in his ear, in his mind:

_People die, but real love is forever._


End file.
